Harmless
by Liz Hollow
Summary: Hermione had disappeared, and now that she's back, she has a deadly secret she can't tell anyone about. But George is determined to get it out of her--and a simple game of Truth or Dare turns into something else. Hermione/George
1. Return to Diagon Alley

**Chapter One – Return to Diagon Alley**

She hadn't been to this town in the longest of times. It had seemed like a long time at least. It had really only been two years, but when she was far away, it had seemed like decades. She hadn't even planned on returning to this place. But...something must've pulled her back.

This place was Diagon Alley, in London, a place where she had visited most often when she was a child. A naive child. She lived in Wales for the past two years. Again, it was not that far away...but it was far enough. None of her friends lived there. She had been renting an apartment there, until she found a suitable place to live. But she hadn't.

_I will sometime...maybe it's here though. Maybe I should find a home here, after visiting a few people,_ she thought to herself as she pushed through the crowd. Or, was pushed, rather.

Her hair wasn't the same as it had been. She had straightened it, and used some gel to keep it flattened down. Although you could not recognize her from a mile away now, her hair was the same chocolate brown. The point was not to have people recognize her, actually.

Her friends might though. Maybe all the years before she had been noticed by her hair. Probably, considering how large and bushy it had used to be. She still had the same face—with her beautiful brown eyes—except for a bit of makeup: mascara, eye shadow, lipstick, foundation, and eyeliner. She was never one for makeup. You could say she downright hated the stuff. But if it meant she wouldn't be recognized, she was all for it.

Hermione Granger was a changed woman. Being twenty-two, she could do anything her heart desired. She didn't have a job however. She used the money she had to her name to pay for her apartment, and travel, and taxes. She didn't have a house yet—this was her first day in London since she left—but she was staying at a hotel until she bought a house.

Seeing a place she would be able to distinguish blindfolded, she pushed through more people, and walking into a brick building. It was much more…enthusiastic…on the inside than it was on the outside. Things were popping up out of strange places all of the room, toys were spinning around, and children (and even adults) were screaming with joy and laughter.

"No, no, Meg, bring that box over there, to the back room in the corner please. The back room, please, Meg," a redheaded man who faced away from Hermione, who looked around twenty-three or twenty-four, was saying angrily to a blonde woman, about the same age as Hermione, maybe a year older.

"I'm doing my best Fred! This box is heavy, and you know I forgot my wand at home! You're lucky I'm even helping you!" the blonde girl shouted back, walking slowly into the back room, caring a box that was almost bigger than she was. Her figure was small and curvy, yet she was almost as tall as the redheaded man. Her face was red, Hermione saw, and she was glaring at the redheaded man, who she called Fred.

Fred Weasley. Hermione knew his face anyways. He wasn't as short as he had been, but taller than she had remembered. So much had changed in two years. But she probably hadn't seen him for over three years or three and a half.

"Meg, why don't you just apparate home and get your wand!" Fred growled back at her, turning away from the back of the room and talking to a costumer, his eyes gleaming angrily, but trying to put on a smile.

Hermione picked up a random object, making sure it didn't shoot anything at her, or anything that could possibly harm her, and got in line to get up to the counter. She was behind about twenty other people, and she really didn't want to wait. But because of her new 'disguise' they wouldn't know who she was if she just went up to the side of the counter.

Meg didn't come back out of the room. She probably did as Fred had said, and apparated to her house to get her wand. Who was that Meg? And why was Fred lucky to have her working there, if she seemed like such a bad employee?

The line was moving considerably fast, for a line this long, and she was now only fifteen people away. Now ten. Now five people…and now she was up. She brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and held up the object.

"It's broken. There aren't anymore," she lied, moving right in front of Fred so she would be able to block the bucket where they were from view. "I just picked it up, and it wouldn't do a single thing. You call this a joke shop? I call it a dumb shop with items that don't even work. And the ones that do are dangerous."

"Excuse me? These items aren't dangerous at all ma'am. And," Fred grabbed the item out of Hermione's hand and pressed a button, "it works just fine. Apparently this is not a dumb shop, you are just a dumb person. Now, if you don't want me to make you, I suggest you leave right now. You're holding up the lines."

"Touchy," Hermione laughed, not moving a muscle as she heard people tap their feet behind her. "You might want to work on your…costumer satisfaction rating. Seeing as you are this rude, it must pretty low."

"Look ma'am, can you please leave? I'm asking nicely now, for you, so can you just leave? Look at the line, it's long. People are waiting," Fred sighed, leaning on the counter, closer to Hermione. She simply laughed again.

"Keep them away from the first years! They're too dangerous!" she implied, hinting that she was Hermione. He would have to figure it out eventually. "I'll confiscate them…"

"Hermione? Hermione Granger, what the hell are you doing here? Where have you been for this long? Holy shit, George! George, put down that thing and come here! George, hurry up!" Fred yelled, turning around and looking into the back room.

Hermione smiled, and George, Fred's twin, came out, looking tired, and his face was as red as his hair, which was messy, and sticking out in strange places. He reached his hand to the back of his head and scratched his head. "What'd going on?" he asked, looking at Fred and yawning. "What thing am I working on? Oh wait…oh yeah. Why did you—"

"It's Hermione!" Fred yelled, gesturing to her, and she smiled and waved. The people standing behind her were clearly frustrated, and she had the urge to just turn around and tell them to shut up. But she didn't, she just put her hand down and continued smiling.

"Hermione? Where?" George said, looking around, and straight at her and smiling. "No…where's the hair…and this girl is wearing makeup. Hermione never wore makeup. And she was never this pretty."

"Hey!" Hermione yelled, putting her hands on her hips. "It's strange how compliments can be insults at the same time…but I will forgive you because I am nice like that. Fancy little place you have going here, isn't it? Definitely dangerous though. Who's that Meg girl? The one with the box who forgot her wand."

"Oh, that's my girlfriend. She just happened to come into the shop one day as a Daily Prophet writer, and it was love at first sight," Fred sighed, and George batted his eyes, put the back of his hand up to his forehead, and fell dreamily into a chair. "She doesn't really want to be helping me here, but she got fired from the Daily Prophet. She thinks I'm lucky to have her working here because of that."

"Hermione, come back behind the counter. We're—you're—holding up the lines. Just climb over, will you?" George said, standing back up. Hermione jumped up onto the counter, and George grabbed her arm to help her down.

"Thanks. But, uh, you really think this will help the lines? You're still talking to me, aren't you?" Hermione laughed, and Fred and George nodded.

"Right you are. That's what we have Meg for. Hermione, will you be the dear you are and go see if she's back from getting her wand?" Fred said, with a hint sarcasm in his voice as he called Hermione 'a dear'.

Hermione smirked, glaring lightly at him, and went into the back room. There were metal shelves on each side of her, filled with boxes of the stuff out in the store; extras needed only if the product sold out. She walked down the hallway of shelves and got to an opening, with only one way to turn: to the left. She did so, and saw a desk with cauldrons, and distorted object spread on top of it.

She saw a clipboard next to the cauldron and looked at it. It was a blueprint of something Fred and George were working on. It looked like a cube, a basic cube really, with minor aspects that make it different. But she didn't understand exactly _how_ it was different. What made it worthy of a joke shop? Well, just because she didn't understand doesn't mean no one else did. Fred and George must know what they're doing.

She heard a _pop!_, and murmuring from the shelf hallway, and turned around. Walking over to the hallway, she saw Meg, fuming, with her wand in her hand.

"Excuse me?" Hermione said softly, making Meg jump, and spin around. Her blonde hair fell over her face, and she brushed it out of the way. Her breathing was deep, and she put a hand over her chest.

"What are you doing back here? It's for employees only. And over there is only for the owner's of this shop," Meg hissed, looking over Hermione. "They work on their new products over there, not even the employees are allowed over there. Are you even an employee?"

"Well, no, I just—"

"Then you shouldn't be back here. It's for _employees_ only. Since you are not an employee, you shouldn't be back here," Meg interrupted, and Hermione smiled and sighed.

"You don't understand, I'm—"

"Not allowed back here. Would you like me to bring it up with my bosses? I can if you want, they're right out there in the shop. So you either leave right now, or we'll go have a little talk with them," Meg interrupted again.

"No! Wait, I kn—"

"Fine. Come with me please," Meg growled, walking back out into the shop. Hermione sighed and followed her. "Fred, George, I found this girl back in your inventing room. She must be trying to steal your products, or something, as she is not an employee. She refused to leave when I asked her to, so I'm asking you what to do."

George snorted, and Fred grinned. Meg rose an eyebrow. "Well…we sent her in there looking for you. Of course, knowing you, I should've realized you wouldn't listen to her. Meg, I would like you to meet our good friend Hermione. Well, our brother's good friend anyways. We haven't seen her in a long time, and we're going to go back to our house for a bit. Will you be able to handle the shop while we're gone?" Fred explained, and Meg put a hand to her mouth, and gasped as she looked back at Hermione. Hermione was looking at George, with a confused look on her face.

"Yeah, and oh my gosh, I am so sorry! I have the tendency to not listen to what people say. Sorry. I suppose you hate me now. That's okay. I talk too much anyways, so a lot of people hate me. I feel bad for Fred though, he's my boyfriend, did you know? Yeah, so I'm surprised he doesn't hate me too. I just talk way too much," Meg sighed, and Hermione turned to her and laughed.

"That's okay. But I didn't know we were going to the Burrow," Hermione said through gritted teeth, smiling as wide as a doll.

"Oh, we're not going to the Burrow, we'll go there later. We're going to _our_ house," George corrected, and Hermione made an 'O' with her mouth. "We'll just freshen up a bit, become great pals, and then go to the Burrow."

"That might be a while then," Hermione sneered, referring to the becoming friends bit. "But I'll go, only if I get to see Ron and Ginny, and your mum, and everyone else tonight. I have to see them, I haven't seen them in two years."

"Then let's go. We're wasting our bonding time!" Fred said sarcastically, walking out from behind the counter, followed by George and Hermione. Fred waved to Meg, and Hermione simply smiled back at her.

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Disclaimer: I own nothing put the plot. Everything else belongs to the amazing J.K. Rowling, my hero and idol, which is basically the same thing, but oh well.

Author's Note: So, this is my first non Hermione/Draco or Hermione/Ron fanfiction. So please be kind, I know this isn't the best.


	2. Two Weasley Houses

**Chapter Two – Two Weasley Houses**

"Whoa!" Hermione exclaimed, falling onto the floor of the Weasley twin's house, out of the fireplace. It was magnificent, much bigger than any house she had ever been to, even 12 Grimmauld Place. The floor was tiled red, the walls covered in a soft creamy gold paint, showing of the Gryffindor colours. She was in the living room, a large room, almost the size of the Gryffindor common room. It was almost an exact replica of the common room, in fact. It was brilliant, and most certainly amazing.

She stood up and brushed herself off, as a voice called in a sarcastic manner, "Hermione dear, come will you?" She looked up and saw George standing at the doorway of the room. "Apparating is so much faster than Floo, but…sadly, you don't know where this place is, and I wasn't about to hold hands with you. But anyways., we are going to give you the grand tour of the house. Do you like this room? Really reminds you of Hogwarts, doesn't it? Well, I'm personally glad we ditched school at the end, Professor Bullfrog was horrible. And ugly. Well, anyways, come on, stop dawdling."

"You were the one talking," Hermione said, following him through the doorway. The hallway was smaller, but there was a kitchen at the end of it. George didn't need to explain that, but he did anyways. He mentioned that he did cook every once in awhile. Hermione wanted to run out of the place, afraid of his cooking. However, she was more mature than to do that.

The tour was long, and rather boring in Hermione's eyes. Although the house was amazing, the rooms itself, and all that horrid information George was giving about them was dull, such as the floor colours. The _exact_ floor colours. He couldn't just say, "Red," he said to say, "Scarlet". She kept her mouth shut, though, and smiled throughout the whole tour. George, of course, knew he was boring her to her grave. He was giving all the tedious information on purpose, and Hermione knew that too.

"And this is the guest room, made especially for those guests who…are guests," George concluded, and Hermione stared at him, biting her lower lip and shaking her head at him. "Well, our tour has been completed. Aren't you the excited one? I just gave you all that historic information that was more enjoyable than a book, and you're practically falling asleep! Books _are awful!_ This was so much better!"

"No…not really," Hermione admitted, and George scowled in a sarcastic manner. "Where's Fred?"

"I dunno. I lost him a while ago. Naw, he's probably just at our mum's telling her you're coming over for supper. So, do tell me…where have you been for the past two years? Why have you changed your appearance?" George asked, sitting on the guest bed. Hermione sat down next to him and thought for a minute.

"Where have I been?" Hermione repeated, a fake smile on her face. "Wales. Why have I changed my appearance? Because I didn't want any of you to recognize me, to tell the truth. Not you, or Fred, or Ron, or Ginny, or Mrs. Weasley, or Mr. Weasl—what?" She stopped at the sudden face that arose on George's face. The joking expression had been wiped off, replaced with a horrified look that she couldn't remember if she had ever seen.

"I don't think dad'll remember you," he said finally, in a grave tone, and Hermione's eyes narrowed as she looked back into George's. The smile faded away, and all she could hear now was her breathing, and George's breathing.

"Why? What happened to him?" she demanded, and George's mouth twitched.

"He's dead. 'Bout a month after you left. One of the remaining Death Eaters did it. Just because Harry defeated Voldemort, doesn't mean his followers are gone. I mean, you and Ron, and Harry, and everyone did a really good job sending them away, but there are still some left. They're escaping prison everyday, killing the Order members that are left. Bill's dead, Charlie's at St. Mungo's…we don't even know where Percy is. Not that I care, the filthy traitor, but mum seems to care."

"George, I'm sure you do care. You just don't want to admit it because of what he did. But I'm sorry to hear about all this. I just had to leave. I didn't want to, but I had to. I had to get rid of everything. Harry's death, Dumbledore's, Remus Lupin's…I just had to get away from it all. It was haunting me every night. Every night I relived it, I saw it all happen again. I left to forget, so I'd be happier, so everyone else would be happier. As for the look change, I hoped if you didn't recognize me, maybe I would know you forgot me, and to prove you were happier without me. And you are, I see it in your shop. Fred is happy with Meg. You're probably happy with whoever you're with," Hermione explained. She never thought she would actually have a serious conversation with either of the Weasley twin's, yet here she was.

"Do you know how heart broken Ron was? Do you know how bad Ginny felt? She thought it was her fault you left. Hermione, even I felt bad! Me, of all people. Fred probably did, I dunno, we never discussed it with each other. No one ever discussed your leaving. But I know everyone thought of it every day. We were worried about you. I guess after awhile we forgot, yeah, but we never truly _forgot_ if you understand what I'm saying," George admitted, and Hermione looked down at the floor, suddenly feeling ashamed.

"I'm sorry," she said apologetically, looking back up at him. "But you are happy, aren't you? And how about Ron and Ginny? They've probably gotten over it by now. They've had to by now, it's been two years. And if you don't mind me asking, why did you feel bad? You've barely noticed me, all these years. I mean, you have, but…you know what I mean!"

"Well, just because a person picks on you doesn't mean they hate you. Malfoy is the only exception to that. You're almost like a second sister to the whole family. I'm sure you were like a second daughter to mum."

"I know, but…I'm sorry. I really just couldn't bare with it. You all reminded me of Harry too much. I didn't want…I was selfish, okay? I thought I was helping you all, but I wasn't," Hermione cried, finally creaking down into tears. George didn't know what to do. He just sat there, and rubbed her back for a moment until she calmed down.

"Wow…I'm sorry. You want to know something? You really surprised me, you know? So thanks…I didn't know you…had a heart. Well, I did, I just—nevermind. You can practically read my mind, right?" Hermione asked, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, and putting her hand on his arm, lightly.

"Are you guys in here—oh, damn! Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt anything important. Please forgive me," Fred exclaimed, walking into the room. Hermione jumped up and backed into the wall, away from George.

"We were just talking, it's the truth, I swear," she muttered angrily, her eyes wide as she moved further away from George, gliding along the wall. Fred just laughed, looking as though he didn't believe her, and she glared at him.

"Yeah sure, and I'm Percy. I'll let you two _lovebirds_ alone," he sneered, walking out of the room and starting to close the door behind him. Hermione ran over to it, and grabbed it, stopping Fred from going anywhere. Although he could just let go of the door and walk away, he didn't, and instead stood facing Hermione, still holding the doorknob.

"You might want to shut that big mouth of yours before I open mine," she snapped coldly, but Fred snorted, and looked at George, and snorted again. George was standing now, and walking towards the door.

"Your mouth is already open. What a lovely couple you two are. No, really, you are a lovely couple. Have fun on your honeymoon," Fred snickered. "But I think you should know that we are going to the Burrow right now. You might want to postpone that honeymoon of yours though. And don't worry about a thing Hermione, I won't tell Ronnie about Georgey-Poo." On that last laugh, he disapparated.

Hermione crossed her arms and scowled. "We are _not_ on a honeymoon! We aren't even married," she yelled, turning to George, and apparating. "And I know we aren't," George added, and apparated after Hermione.

"Oh, Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley squealed, hugging her tightly. "You look lovely Hermione, and it's so wonderful to see you again. It's been so long, hasn't it? Oh, please, come and sit down. Ron and Ginny will be so excited to see you. They're just cleaning up for supper." Mrs. Weasley had, as Hermione noticed, started getting greyer in her hair, and she had more wrinkles on her face.

"It's wonderful to see you too Mrs. Weasley!" Hermione exclaimed, hugging her back. She walked over to the dining table and sat down, waiting patiently as George and Fred sat on the other side of the table. Fred kept looking from George to Hermione, smiling, thinking, nodding, and then finally laughing under his breath. Hermione said nothing, put could feel the urge pressing against her throat to tell him to stop.

"Hermione!" a first voice cried, and then a second one yelled the same. She looked over at the doorway to see two redheads, a woman and a man. The woman was a head shorter than the man, but they both had smiles spread out over their face.

Hermione stood up and ran over to them, hugging them both, and Fred and George clapped. Hermione looked back at them, glared, and turned back to the other two, smiling again. They both looked the same, only older, and more mature than she had remembered them. Just as everyone else had. Fred and George as an exception.

"Ron, Ginny…" Hermione sighed, and hugged them again, causing Fred to whistle behind them, while George continued clapping. Hermione chose to ignore this.

"Where have you been for so long 'Mione?" Ron asked her, allowing Hermione to sit back down, and he sat down next to her. Ginny Weasley, his sister, sat down on the other side of Hermione, looking at her as Ron asked, also curious.

"Wales. But I finally decided to come back to live here. I just have to buy a house, and find a job and I'll be all set. I'm kind of living in a hotel right now. Sadly, I can't find any houses left to buy, this place is overpopulated. Well, there was one, but it cost more than the whole of Europe is worth. It was huge. As for a job, I'm looking for one in healing, or being a writer for the Daily Prophet. You have to show them what is good enough to write, don't you think?" Hermione explained, and Ron and Ginny nodded. "What have you been doing with your lives? Where do you work?"

Ginny opened her mouth first. "I am the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. School starts in a month, so I have to leave in…two weeks, approximately. Ronald, here, is a lazy ass man who just sits at home all the time and mopes around the house."

"Excuse me, it's not my fault no one has any openings for jobs around here except Fred and George," Ron growled, and the twin's heads shot up as they heard their names. "No, I am not a lazy ass man who sits at home all the time and mopes around the house."

"Yes, you are. It's not that there are no job openings, it's that you've never gone out to check in a year and a half," Ginny retorted, and Hermione smiled. "You need to stop being a lazy ass man who sits at home all the time and mopes around the house!"

"How many times do we have to say that I am a lazy ass man who sits at home al—wait…I am not a lazy ass man, and that's final. And I have looked at job openings…I checked last weekend," Ron hissed.

"What did you check, the tags on your T-Shirt?" Ginny snarled, and Hermione snorted. "Honestly Ron, you make a horrible first impression."

"I already know Hermione, though. So, therefore, it is not a first impression, is it Little Miss Grouchy?" Ron scoffed, and Ginny smiled lightly. "What are you smiling about now, Little Miss Grouchy?"

"Little Miss Grouchy? We haven't seen Hermione in over two years, and we're supposed to be polite and everything. How about you guess everything we aren't right now? I'm sorry Hermione, and my brother who is a fu—hullo mother!" Ginny yelled loudly as Mrs. Weasley came into the room, holding two pots up with her wand.

"Hello Ginny. Hermione, we are having Chicken Caesar Salad, pasta, and mozzarella sticks for supper, if you don't mind. I do hope that is all right with you. Oh, Fred will you hand me those rolls and butter? Oh, no, don't throw them, yes, thank you dear," Mrs. Weasley said, and lowered the pots on the table, and Fred handed her the rolls, after trying to throw them.

Throughout the whole supper, Hermione talked to everyone, and listened to what they had to say. There was a lot to talk about. What she had done in Wales, what she was doing now, where she lived in Wales. There were several other topics as well. How the family was coping, how Charlie was feeling, where they thought Percy was as of now. The plus to this was that Mrs. Weasley, nor anyone else in the Weasley family, got upset as they talked about this.

"Charlie is doing much better than they had expected. He has been at St. Mungo's for quite some time now, and he is recovering faster than most patients. He should get out this year, or the beginning of next year if they can manage it. Then he'll probably stay home for awhile, and then go back to Romania with the dragons," Mrs. Weasley told, and Hermione nodded throughout the whole story, staring at her with deep interest as she finished eating her food.

"Ron, would you be a man and go get the photo album from upstairs in my old room? Go, Ron. Go!" Fred ordered, and Ron finally went upstairs. Fred cleared his throat, and everyone looked at him. "Everyone, I have an announcement to make. George and Hermione are going to get married, and go on a honeymoon to Spain where Hermione will teach him Spanish."

So many things happened at one time. George buried his face into his leftover pasta, Mrs. Weasley clapped although she was shocked, Ginny's mouth dropped open, hanging to what seemed like the floor, and Hermione felt her heart stop for about ten seconds.

Ron came back downstairs, without a photo album, and looked at everyone's faces. "What's going on?" he asked, and Fred laughed.

"Naw, I don't think they are. I'm only messing with Hermione. Funny, huh? Yeah…I'll go put away some dishes," Fred said, walking away with some dishes. Ron looked absolutely confused.

"Well, thank you very much Mrs. Weasley, this was great. And thank you George for showing me our house. I have to get back to my hotel room though. Ron, Ginny, it was great seeing you again. I'm sorry we couldn't spend for time together, I'll see you again though. Thanks again Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said shakily, about to apparate, when Mrs. Weasley touched her arm to stop her.

"You are welcome to stay here with us Hermione. Fred and George have to return home, but Ginny and Ron will be here, and—" Mrs. Weasley started, but Fred cut her off, coming back into the room.

"Nonsense, she can stay with us. I'm sure she doesn't want to stay here, do you Hermione? She wants to stay in a new house, not an old one. Besides, we have a guest room with a _comfortable_ bed," he offered, turning to Hermione.

"After your little joke, I'm not sure she wants to ever be near you again. I don't particularly trust you either," Mrs. Weasley scowled, and Fred smiled, as George raised an eyebrow.

"I insist mum. Let her stay with us. I will go get her bags from her hotel room, and she can get settled in," Fred persisted. "Come on mum, she's safe in our hands. We are mature, grown men who can live our lives the way we want. We should be able to allow guests into our house. Why else would we have a guest room?"

"Fine," Mrs. Weasley accepted. "Although I'm not sure leaving a twenty-year-old girl in the hands of you two is a brilliant idea. So, Ginny and Ron are going with you to make sure you don't harm her, or kill her for that matter, with any of your joke shop items. I do not want you or George testing products on her, do you hear me?" Fred nodded, and Mrs. Weasley shooed them.

For Hermione, this would be a long night. Spending the night at Fred and George Weasley's house. That was an invitation to danger if she ever saw one. But she apparated anyways to the house, knowing Ginny and Ron were going to be there to save her if Fred and George tried to do anything to her. Fred wouldn't have offered if he didn't have a plan to humiliate, hurt, or any other way of torturing her. He must have worked around Ginny and Ron too.

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Disclaimer: The characters, Burrow, all that jazz in J.K. Rowling's. The plot is mine.

Author's Note: So there you are, a second chapter. I hope you enjoyed it! Please, please read and review! I would truly apprictiate it! More than anything in the world!


	3. Truthful Confessions

**Chapter Three - Truthful Confessions**

"Hermione, we have so much to tell you. So much, it's not even funny. But we want to hear all about you first. Why you left us all here, why you came back—not that we have a problem with that—and why you agreed to stay with Fred and George. You must be nuts," Ginny laughed, and Hermione laughed back. It was true. She probably was nuts for agreeing to stay with them, but hey, they insisted—and didn't really give her a choice—and she _did_ need a place to stay. Might as well be in a nice place like this.

"No, no, I want you guys to go first," Hermione persisted, shaking her head and looking at Ron as he popped into the room. Literally. "I've been gone for two years. It might take ages to tell you my whole story. So I won't. But even a summary might take awhile. So, you guys tell me about how it's been down here for the past two years. What has gone on, what jobs you've had, your girlfriends, Ron, and your boyfriends, Ginny. I want to know all about it. Every single solitary detail. I want your story to be as long as mine. By the way, where did Fred and George go?"

Ron shrugged, and sat down on the couch in the replica Gryffindor Common Room, and Ginny followed suit. Doing the same, Hermione sat in between her two old friends, looking from Ron to Ginny, Ginny to Ron. Her heart was skipping beats. God, she hadn't seen them in two years. Two full years. It wasn't like, _oh, I'm going on vacation for a few months_. It was actually two years. It was painful. A painful two years. As she had told George, she had left to forget. Let's just say, it never worked very well.

"Okay, I'll go first," Ginny said excitedly, and she looked at her brother and friend. "Okay, well, I had a rough start after Harry died, and you left. After all, Harry _was_ my boyfriend. But I guess I coped. I mean, I'm still really upset about it, yeah, but he saved the world. Anyways, after you left it was like the whole world just stopped. Everybody was already upset about Harry, and then you just, well, disappeared. Nobody really understood why. They just guessed that you left because you couldn't deal with the memories." Well, she was partially correct. Fairly accurate actually. Was the reason she left _that_ obvious?

"Anyways, after that we all kind of went our separate ways. Dad and Bill died a couple of months after you died. It seemed like our family just kept getting smaller, and smaller. Like everybody was leaving. There was still hope that you would come back though," Ginny continued. "But nobody actually thought you would. Look how wrong we were. So, I decided that it was time to just deal with it. It had been a month since Bill died when I decided this. I just stood up one day, and said, 'Hey, I'm going to go get a job!' And I did."

"Yeah, as a cashier at the grocery store. What a high paying job that was," Ron snorted, and Ginny crossed her arms, glaring angrily at him. "Sorry, but it's true. It was a lame job. You got paid about a galleon an hour, and had lousy hours. Six a.m. to noon. Who shops at a grocery store at six a.m.? I'm not even up at six o'clock. What time did you have to get up for work? Four thirty? Ha, like you could get me up that early."

"Which is exactly why you don't have a job right now. Because you sleep all day, and do absolutely no work around the house," Ginny snapped. "Which is obviously going to change once I leave for work in a couple of weeks. Mum will probably be with Charlie at the hospital, and Fred and George live here, and have a business. Dad and Bill are dead. Fleur has a kid to raise now—by the way, did we tell you about that? Fleur had a little boy, Roberto. A couple of months after the wedding. Nobody even knew she was expecting. Except Bill, of course, but he never told us." Hermione chuckled lightly. Who knew?

"Anyways, Ronald, you're the only one left at the house. So, unless you get a job and move out in the next month, you are going to have to do all the work around the Burrow. That includes doing the dishes, cooking dinner, dusting, washing clothes, and a bunch of other stuff that _I_ had to do. Of course, it shouldn't be hard, considering we have magic to do it all now. But the food…well…let's just hope it turns out good for Mum," Ginny said unceasingly. "She has to do so much around the house. The poor thing. Because Ron is a _lazy ass man_ who mopes around the house all day!" Ron scowled in response, and Ginny smirked.

"Yes, well, allow me to continue. I'm sorry about that rude interruption from Ronald. I got a job at a grocery store, and then everything just started looking so much better. Life, I mean. I was chipper, and I decided to start helping Mum around the house, unlike Ron. Then I applied for a job at Hogwarts. I missed it so much, and I knew Defense Against the Dark Arts was Harry's favorite subject. I wanted to do it for him," Ginny smiled. "I got the job, but I couldn't star last year. Too much work was left to be done. And I haven't had any boyfriends since Harry. I dunno. I want one, but at the same time, I'm too busy to want one. It makes sense. It just doesn't to Ron. This year I've just been helping Mum, reading books about the Dark Arts, and getting supplies. Which surprisingly took a whole year."

"Wow, Ginny. I'm really sorry. I never thought I would cause this much trouble for everyone," Hermione confessed, and turned to face Ron. "What about you, Ron? What have you been doing for the past two years without me? Or Harry? Besides sitting around like a lazy ass man, moping around the house. Since I already know you've been doing that." She laughed, and Ginny snickered.

"Thanks, Hermione. And I thought you were sticking up for me," Ron said crossly, and Hermione giggled again. "I suppose I have been kind of lazy. I mean, I _have_ been sitting around. When you left, like Ginny said, the world just stopped spinning. Mine just stopped for longer than anyone else's. Because I couldn't deal with it. My two best friends in the whole world were gone. What did you expect me to do? Cheer and hold a party? No. I sat in my room for a couple of weeks, and Mum brought food up to me room and stuff. But when I finally came down, I still couldn't do anything with myself."

Hermione felt horrible now. George had said that Ron had been heartbroken, but she never expected this. Ron wasn't really living anymore. Or, he wasn't. He was just an empty shell. Like someone who had been in Azkaban prison. Ron was just a presence. He had no purpose. Until now. When Hermione came back, he perked up. Just for her. He knew she was alright.

"And then Bill and Dad died. I guess I wasn't that shocked. That had been at St. Mungo's for a while, and they weren't getting better. So I really wasn't all that surprised when they died. I was just shocked to no end when you left. That was something I never expected. You were the strong one. You were the one that held Ginny and me together for the few days before you were gone. There was no one to hold us together after that. We were like a pair of pants, and you were the stitching. We fell apart," Ron said.

"I think that after that all happened, I began moving a little bit more. I held Mum a little with chores. Like cleaning the dishes and washing the clothes. It was easier with Fred and George gone," Ron joked. "Charlie was in the hospital during the whole of this. Did you hear? He's coming home this year, or the beginning of next. I was so happy when I heard that. We didn't need another person to leave us. Anyways, I never got a job, and since I basically never left the house, I never got a girlfriend. What an eventful life I live."

"Oh, Ron. I'm sorry. You guys, I am truly sorry. If I have never been sorry for anything else, I am now. I am so sorry. I know I shouldn't have left, and if I could change the past, I would. I just don't have a Time Turner anymore. I can't change the past. But I really would if I could. I would make everything right. I'd bring your dad back, I'd bring Bill back, and I'd bring Harry back. I'd bring Percy back, wherever he is now," Hermione apologized, and Ginny and Ron stared at her.

"Don't be sorry. Everything happens for a reason. And you left because you couldn't handle it. None of us could. You chose the way out that none of us had thought of until after you had gone. That's Hermione Granger. Always thinking ahead, and thinking the best ways out," Ginny said, and Ron smiled at Hermione. "Really, we were just worried about you. I guess we knew you could take care of yourself, we just wanted you back. We were being selfish, I know."

"Oh, no. You weren't being selfish at all. Not at all, I swear. I was being selfish. I was the one who left. I didn't tell anyone. I should've told someone. I should've brought you guys. But all of you were living memories of Harry, and Voldemort, and my past. I wanted to forget everyone. I wanted to take the easy way out, not the best way. It was the worst way, and you both know it," Hermione sighed, and Ron frowned again. "You both know I was being selfish. But you can't tell your friends the truth if you know it will hurt them…I attempted, and failed. Yes, I failed."

"Hermione, that was a touching segment, you just told us," Fred said, coming into the replica Gryffindor Common Room, and clapping. "Touching, truly. Especially the part where you said you wanted to forget everyone, and that we were living memories of Harry. Makes my heartbreak." He put his hand over his heart and fell onto one of the other couches in the room.

George came into the room next, and shook his head. "Tripping over chairs again, are we Fred?" he asked, and Ginny giggled. "You know, I told you to go get your eyes checked, but did you listen to me? No, you did not. Now you are paying the price. You are tripping over chairs."

"Actually, this is technically a couch. A…single couch chair thing. I have no idea what they are called! It's not my fault. But I didn't trip. Hermione killed me. She broke my heart," Fred replied haughtily. Hermione crossed her arms, and Fred smirked. "I'm just messing with you. Anyways, Fred and I were talking—"

"Not surprisingly, since you guys never shut up," Ron interrupted, but Fred just kept on talking.

"—and we feel that to make Hermione feel as welcomed in our home as possible, that we should play a game. Our favorite game in the world. How about _Truth or Dare_? Awesome game, simple, and it's so unpredictable. Actually, we are not giving you a choice. We're playing."

_Truth or Dare_? Hermione thought, her heart racing. She had never played before. Well, she had never played an actual game of it. It was such a hard game. And to play it with Fred and George? They could obviously find some way to torture Hermione, even if she picked Truth. Nothing was safe. There was nowhere to run.

She was going to be a part of this game of _Truth or Dare_.

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**Author's Note: **Hullo everyone. I know you've waited FOREVER for this chapter, so I hope you like it. I tried so hard to make it good, and suspenseful at the same time. Hermione and _Truth or Dare_? Uh oh. Dun, dun, dun.

Yeah, so this all belongs to J.K. Rowling. The characters and stuff. The plot belongs to me though.


	4. Truth or Dare

**Chapter Four – Truth or Dare**

Hermione found herself sitting in the middle of the floor, legs crossed, and eyes wide. Beside her was Ron on one side, and Ginny on the other. They didn't look too thrilled about playing this game either. Yeah, Fred and George really knew how to make one feel at home, since Hermione felt anything but at home. This was like being locked in a house with two crazy boys and no protections except for their siblings. And that still didn't seem very safe. She was actually quite scared at this point in time.

"Fred, George, Mum wouldn't approve of this, and you know it. We should be going to bed anyways. I mean, God, it's eight o'clock and I'm just so tired," Ginny said, looking at her bare arm, pretending that there was a watch, and faking a yawn. "Come on, up you two. Time for us to sleep. I'm sure Hermione is very tired, and would much rather have a good nights sleep, rather than stay up late playing _Truth or Dare_."

"Eight o'clock. Wow, that's extremely late. And we know Mum wouldn't approve of this, that's why we're playing _Truth or Dare_ here, and not down at the Burrow. Mom would, well, blow the roof off. 'Hermione, Ginny, and Ronald should not be playing such a vulgar game!' But really, it's not such a bad name. And we'll keep it at a low rating. We won't dare you to do anything that we think you wouldn't do," George sneered, and laughed.

How very amusing it was. Ginny was standing, her arms crossed, glaring down at Fred and George. Ron was biting his lower lip, and looking extremely confused. Hermione was just sitting there, disbelieving. There was no way Fred and George wouldn't dare them anything they wanted to. Although she did not, in any way, want to play _Truth or Dare_, she had to. They had offered her a place to stay, after all.

"I'm sure this one game wouldn't hurt," Hermione said to Ginny, and her friend's jaw dropped. To hear that coming from Hermione of all people, it was painful. The Goody-Two-Shoes, who normally wouldn't give the time of day to any sort of fun activity (except Quidditch), was agreeing to play the most evil of all games. And Fred and George played a mean game of _Truth or Dare_.

"Okay, but I'm putting my own rules into this game," Ginny snapped, sitting back down but still glaring at Fred and George. "One. If someone doesn't want to do a dare, then they don't have to do it. Two. If someone doesn't want to tell a truth, then they don't have to do it. And three. If someone wants to quit, then they are allowed to. Because you can't force someone to play."

"Watch us," Fred laughed. "But I'm making amendments to those rules. For the first one, everyone has to do the dares. If you don't, you have to…cover your face in peanut butter, or something like that. We'll give you a worse dare. Same for the second one, only we'll give you a worse truth, which you must do. And we can really force you to play. We're older, and we own the house."

Ginny scowled, but didn't say anything because, of course, they were right. At least they were right about the last thing. But as for the other two, everyone would probably much rather do the dare, or tell the truth, than to do something worse. Although the two jokesters were tricky, Hermione was sure they were—somewhere very, very, _very_ deep down—loving souls who would go easily on her.

"Okay, I'm going to start. Ronald, since you've been the most quiet about this whole thing, truth or dare? Be a man, Ronald, be a man," George said, and Ron looked down at his overly large bare feet. Muttering dare, George laughed. "Excellent choice, my good sir. I dare you to, stand up, and sing a song for us. What song though…oh, oh! That song by that group with the female singer, that she goes really high in?"

"Wow, that makes it a whole lot clearer. Be more specific," Ron said, but he stood up. George thought about this for a moment. He couldn't remember. It was a fairly new song, since the group had just recently become big in Europe. Or had they? George had been more focused on his work, rather than the new groups and artists that were selling CD's. He had to get the CD put onto a record, so he could actually listen to it.

"The song, you know, the sad one? Where the singer goes really high at the end? Oh! It's called _Hello_ by Evanescence. Or something like that. You know the song. I let you borrow my record over the summer, a few years ago. Which you never returned, by the way. And you would sit in your room and listen to the sad songs over and over. Since Hermione, here, left. That's all you did. So you had better have had the song memorized, or else you have to sing some other horrible song that I'll think of later," George snickered.

"Yeah, yeah, I know it," Ron snapped, and he cleared his throat. "Playground school bell rings again  
Rain clouds come to play again  
Has no one told you she's not breathing?  
Hello, I'm your mind giving you someone to talk to  
Hello.

"If I smile and don't believe  
Soon I know I'll wake from this dream  
Don't try to fix me,  
I'm not broken  
Hello, I'm the lie living for you so you can hide  
Don't cry.

"Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping  
Hello, I'm still here  
All that's left of yesterday."

And he coughed. At the end, he sounded like a bird dying. Okay, he even sounded like that at the beginning. It wasn't a hard song, Hermione could tell, but Ron had butchered it. Fred and George were rolling on the ground laughing, Ginny was snickering, and Hermione just gaped at him. He blushed, coughing again, and sat down. At the beginning of the song, he sounded like a dying bird, cracking at unusual spots, and choking on his words. Towards the middle he had begun to improve. Then the high part came. And he attempted to hit the note. And failed miserably.

"That was bloody amazing!" Fred hooted, doubling over in laughter. He sat up, taking a few deep breaths. He looked back at his little brother, and started laughing again. God, it would never end.

"Put a sock in it, will you? You gave me a girl's song, it's not my fault I can't sing it," Ron growled, and turned to Fred. "Truth or dare, you?"

"Dare."

Ron considered this for a moment. He looked around, seeing what he could use for a dare, when a smile crept up on his face. "You have many houses next to you, don't you? I dare you, to take off you clothes, leaving only your boxers on, and run up and down the street five times, saying, 'I'm a hairy baboon!'" Ginny smiled, and Fred shrugged. Of course, it was nothing to him.

So Fred, who just _had_ to strip off his clothes in front of all of them—revealing a pair of blue boxers with green leafs on them—walked out of the front door and everyone went to watch him. He saluted them, and ran up the street, screaming at the top of his lungs, "I'm a hairy baboon!" Several heads popped out of their front doors, and one couple next door muttered, "I always thought he was a lunatic."

He came back, after his five runs down the street—which took about twenty minutes—panting. "I think the running was worse than the actual yelling part. It's a long road, let me tell you," Fred sighed, and pushed past the amused foursome. They followed him back into the fake Common Room, but sat down without putting his clothes back on. He sat on the floor in his leafy boxers.

"Ginny, truth or dare?" Fred asked. Ginny murmured that she wanted truth, and Fred scowled. "Way to ruin the fun, Gin. Let's see… Are you still upset about Harry's death, and are you more upset about Harry's death than Dad's and Bill's?"

"That's two questions, but whatever. Yes, I am still upset about Harry's death, but I'm basically over it. I've moved on. I mean, you can't be left grieving forever," Ginny explained. "As for the second question, I'm really not sure. Dad and Bill were related to me, but Harry was like a brother to me too. I think Bill's death and Dad's death affected me more, and made me more upset, but I'm upset about all of the deaths. So anyways, Hermione, truth or dare?"

"Uh," Hermione muttered, and Ginny smiled at her. She didn't want to seem like a loser for picking truth, so she would have to pick dare. But then again, Ginny had just picked truth. And Ginny was the most outgoing person she had ever met—except for maybe Fred and George. "Truth."

"At Hogwarts, who did you have a crush on, if anyone. And don't lie, since this is truth or dare. Oh, and do you still like them now?" Ginny asked, and Hermione sighed. Easy question, that was.

"I liked Ron. But no, I don't like him now. I mean, I like him, I just don't _like_ him, if you get what I'm saying. Sorry, Ron," Hermione told them, and Ron's face fell. Poor Ron. Really. She liked him, even after she left, but then she realized that she had to forget. She left to forget. So that's what she had to do. Forget. Although that didn't work very well, she did leave behind her little crush on Ronald. "George, truth or dare?"

"Dare," he challenged, and Hermione smiled. She was horrible at coming up with these kinds of things. She needed a good dare. A dare to match all of their dares. Ha. Like that would ever happen. But she needed a fairly decent dare. One like…

"I dare you to kiss Fred, on the lips," she said, and George made a face. "Either that, or go get the peanut butter, and cover your whole head."

"That's disgusting. I'll go get the peanut butter," he said, and stood up, and walked into the kitchen. He came back out holding a jar of peanut butter, and unscrewed the cap. He stuck his hand in, and pulled out a whole glob of peanut butter. Smacking the peanut butter on top of his head, he smothered his whole head with it. He reached back in the jar, grabbing more, and putting more on his head. He wiped his eyes off, and pointed at Hermione. "You are very good at this game."

"I know," Hermione replied, and laughed. Yeah, right.

"Hermione, truth or dare?" George asked her back, and she smirked. She chose dare. She'd have to, to show them how good at this game she really was. "I dare you to go into our kitchen and pour yourself three mugs of fire whiskey. And chug them all, right in front of us."

Of course, she went in the direction that George had went to get to the kitchen, but she got a little lost. Eventually, she found it, and found the fire whiskey and three mugs in a cupboard. She carried them all back into the fake Common Room, and sat down.

She poured the fire whiskey into all three, and downed the first mug with ease. Then she started drinking the second one. She already felt a little sick. And her mouth hurt. She wasn't used to drinking, or downing drinks. In fact, this was one of the few times she had actually drank something with alcohol in it. She drink the last one, and blinked a few times. Already feeling a bit tipsy, she put both her hands behind her on the ground to support herself.

"Amazing how quickly it works, isn't it?" George asked, and licked his peanut butter cover lips. "Mmm, tasty. I wish we had bought chunky peanut butter though."

"Ron, truth or dare?" Hermione asked, and Ron's nose twitched.

"Truth. I'm not singing again."

"Do you sing in the shower?" Hermione asked, and everyone laughed. Ron nodded, and Hermione smirked. "How come you aren't very good then?"

"Not answering that. Fred, truth or dare?" Ron asked, turning to one of his brothers—the one that wasn't covered in peanut butter. Non-chunky peanut butter, that is. Fred picked dare, and Ron thought for a moment. "I dare you to attempt to put your feet behind your head. And to put your clothes back on."

Fred put his pants and shirt back on, and really did attempt to put his feet behind his head. That didn't turn out very well. "Ow!" he yelled, and put his legs back down. "God damn it, that hurts a lot. Ow, God. Ginny, truth or dare?"

"Truth again, please and thank you," she answered, and Hermione smiled. What a way to play it safe. Smart girl, Ginny was. She had learned very well. Not just from Hermione, but from her brothers. Never take a dare from the twins, unless you are trying to prove a point, like Hermione was.

"Why do you _always_ pick truth? No, that's not my question. My question is, who in the world do you want most to die? Other than death eaters?" Fred asked, and Ginny sighed.

"And how come you always picked depressing questions? I want Draco Malfoy to die. Since he never technically became a death eater. Not really. So I pick him to die. Fred, truth or dare, right back at you?" Ginny said quickly, and Fred smirked.

"Dare, of course. I'm not boring like you."

"I dare you to eat some of the peanut butter off of George's head. His hair," she said, and Fred scooped a little bit of peanut butter onto his finger, and stuck in into his mouth. "Yuck. I used to like peanut butter, too. Thanks a lot, Ginny. You ruined it for me."

"You're welcome."

"Hermione Granger, truth or dare?" Fred asked her, and she sat up. She still needed to prove her point. So she picked dare. She would do any dare. She didn't care how bad it was. She would do any dare. "I dare you to do Seven Minutes in Heaven with George."

Except maybe that one.

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**Author's Note:** Dun, dun, dun. How suspenseful. Actually, not really, but oh well.

The characters, etc. belong to J.K. Rowling. The plot belongs to me.


	5. Seven Minutes in Hell

**Chapter Five – Seven Minutes in Hell**

She couldn't do that dare. She knew Fred was only daring her that—even though he had said that they would not dare them to do anything that wouldn't do—because of he was making fun of her. It was like the dinner thing. Where he announced that she and George were getting married and going to Spain. But this was different, in a much scarier way. Ron was here this time. Fred obviously knew that Ron still loved her, so sent him away to announce the fake engagement.

But she had to! She had taken one dare, and she could take another And from the look on George's face—at least she though it was a look, since his whole face was covered in peanut butter—he didn't exactly want to be a part of this dare. Maybe they could just go into the broom closet and stand there. Awkwardly standing there, probably, but it was an easy way to get out of doing the actual part of the dare.

Poor Ron, though. If she accepted the dare, what would he think? What would he do? He still loved Hermione, and although she didn't love him back, she still cared for him. And to think he had already done so much waiting for her to come back. He was frowning, and before he had been smiling a little. He looked just plain sad. Who knew what was going to happen to him?

And Ginny. Ginny looked angry at Fred just for daring Hermione to do anything with another person. She looked as though she were engaged to kill him. Her eyes were narrowed—so narrow that Hermione couldn't even see her eyes themselves anymore—and she was shaking her head slowly, watching his every move. Her lips were pierced into a thin line, and her nose was scrunched. At this moment, she hated her brother.

"I-I'll do it," Hermione nodded, and all eyes laid on her. Ginny gasped, and George looked quite scared. "I'm not going to not do it. I'd taken one dare, I can do another. It's not that hard, really. Except it's more like Seven Minutes in Hell. They really should rename the dare." She stood up and motioned for George to stand up too. Since she had no idea where the broom closet was—although he had shown it to her during the tour—he would have to lead the way.

And she started walking, as he followed her. She paused for a moment, and he walked ahead of her, heading to the broom closet. "I can _not_ believe you agreed to do this dare. You know I have peanut butter, all over my face, don't you?" George asked, and Hermione laughed nervously.

"I know. I can't believe I agreed to do it either. But I had to, you know? And nobody ever _does_ the Seven Minutes in Heaven anyways. They just stand there. Unless they actually like the other person. But I'm planning on just standing there, thank you very much," she said matter-of-factly. "You know Fred dared me this to annoy us, don't you? Just like at dinner."

"Yeah, just like at dinner. I'm sorry about that, by the way. Even I didn't want that to happen. Fred can get a little over the top sometimes. Like Meg. They're perfect for each other. They both talk too much, and always go over the top. Okay, so I do too, but that isn't the point," George added as Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. She smiled lightly, and they stopped at the broom closet.

"Here goes," she whispered, sighing and entering the broom closet. It was actually fairly large; it could probably fit a half dozen people in it, sitting down. Hermione stood in one corner, leaning against an open space on the wall, and George looked at himself in a hand mirror that was on one of the shelves in the closet, after he closed the door.

"I look disgusting. I look like a monster. And this just gave me an excellent idea for one of our products at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. A truth or dare cube. You hold it in your hands, and if you pick truth, it works as a lie detector. If you pick dare, it makes sure you do it. If you don't, it will cover your head in peanut butter. Hermione, you are a genius," George said, putting the mirror back down on the shelf.

"I know, but I didn't actually say anything," Hermione muttered, and George considered this. "But thanks anyways. Just, seriously, keep it away from the first years. Or, anyone for that matter. That could seriously become dangerous. What if someone…chokes on the peanut butter? Or what if they are allergic to peanut butter?"

"We'll put a warning on the box, don't worry. It will say, 'Warning: Is Not An Object Used For Smart People,'" he joked, and Hermione glared at him. "Okay, fine. But it really was a great idea. And so easy to use. All you do is build a cube, with wood or plastic or something, and then make a sensor on it that can tell if you're lying or not by your brain waves and heart rate. And then hollow out the center of the cube and put peanut butter in it, that magically refills itself when it runs out."

"How can it tell if you did the dare out not? And how will the peanut butter come out?" Hermione interrupted, and he sighed.

"I was getting there," he said, and Hermione smirked. "There is another sensor on it, that can tell if you are actually performing the dare. And a recorder, that tells if you said that you'll do it or not. If you do not do it, a little slot opens and sprays the peanut butter onto your head. Or whatever part of your body is closest to the slot. But it will cover your whole head."

"Interesting," Hermione said, and looked around the broom closet. There were two shelves, one with what looked like cleaning supplies (and apparently a hand mirror) on it, and the other with Quidditch supplies on it. Brooms, a case with the balls in it, and broom polishing kits. On the back wall, where Hermione was leaning, were a mop and a bucket.

An awkward silence filled the closet, and Hermione ran a hand through her hair. How easily it went through now. Before she could barely get a comb to go through it, but now it went through with ease. And with the makeup she actually looked her age of twenty-one. And Hermione, who once enjoyed the silence, who had waited every moment for the noise to just stop, hated it. Silence was the worst kind of loud to her now.

"How long has it been?" George asked, and Hermione shrugged.

"I'm not timing it, or anything. It's probably only been two or three minutes. Time always goes by so much slower when you're waiting for something to happen. That's how the past two years have been for me. It went by so slowly," she said, and George looked at her.

"It probably went by faster for you than it did for any of us," George said, and Hermione looked at his peanut buttery face.

"I don't want to talk about this right now. I'm tired of talking about it. I'm tired of explaining what happened to everyone. Because, the fact is, I really don't know what happened, okay? I don't. It just _did_," she snapped, and George frowned at her.

Then it was back to an awkward silence. Hermione turned away, facing the corner of the closet, and buried her face in it. "Hermione, normally I'm not this nice to anyone. Normally I'm not this serious. You know that. So, something must be wrong, if you're miserable enough to make me like this," George sighed, and Hermione turned back to face him. She shook her head at him, and smiled lightly.

_You have no idea how messed up my life is right now_, she thought. "It's my turn to truth or dare someone, and I'm not waiting until I get back to your fake Common Room to do it. So, George, truth or dare?" she asked him, and smiled evilly at him.

"Dare, obviously."

"I dare you to wash your hair and face off with the cleaning supplies. Because I cannot stand to look at you like this anymore. It's actually really gross looking, because it's getting all crusty, and…just eww. Wash your face off, please. I'm begging you!" Hermione exclaimed, and he bowed to her.

"Thank you, almighty darer," he thanked, and Hermione laughed. "I can finally rid my hair and face of this sticky, gooey, peanut butter." He ripped off a paper towel from the shelf, and started wiping off his face, and then looked in his hand mirror. "Already better." He ripped off another paper towel and sprayed God knows what in his hair. The peanut butter came out of his hair with ease, and Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. He dried off his face and hair with one last paper towel.

Looking at her face, he said, "Old family secret. It will get anything out of anything. It's an old potion that my great grandmother taught my grandmother, who taught Mum. It uses more herbs than anything else, but I don't know how to make it. Mum has to make it. She was going to teach Ginny last summer, but she never got around to it. And Ginny was busy talking with different Professors from Hogwarts to learn this summer. So Mum said she would teach her, without a doubt, next summer."

"Oh. Sounds interesting. Can it get stains out of clothing? Even grape juice on a white shirt?" she asked him, and he nodded.

"Anything out of anything. All you have to do is spray or pour a little bit of the potion onto any place the stain is, and then get a tissue, or a handkerchief, and rub the spot. It comes straight off. Who needs to use a wand when you can use a potion?" George joked. Hermione smiled, and thought about this. She didn't even have her wand on her right now. It was in her suitcase. And that was probably in the guest room. "How long has it been now? Six minutes, almost seven?"

Hermione nodded again, and he nodded back. "Okay, so truth or dare?"

"Truth. I'm not taking any more dares from you or Fred. Next thing I'd know I'd have to do Seven Minutes in Hell with Fred," she replied, and he actually laughed at her joke. That was an accomplishment.

"Seven Minutes in Hell. I like that," he said. "On to the truth. Hmm…I'm much better at coming up with dares than I am at coming up with truths. Oh, I know. Why did you really leave? You're a pretty good liar, I'll give you that, but I know that you wouldn't leave to forget all of us. I mean, why in the world would you want to forget _me_. I mean, I'm _me_!"

Hermione smiled at the last part, but she considered telling him the truth. She was a pretty good liar, wasn't she? No, she couldn't tell him now. Not yet. He could wait. She'd just make up another lie. "Okay, okay, you caught me. I left because…I got a job offering down there for Wales' newspaper. And I didn't want to tell you all that I was leaving because of a job offering," she lied. "So I just left."

"Okay, I used to think you were a good liar, but now you just suck," George laughed. "Crap, I hear footsteps. I think Fred's coming to get us. What do we do? What does anyone do when they do Seven Minutes in Hell?"

"Come here," Hermione said, gesturing for him to come closer. And he did. She leaned closer to him, and pressed her lips against his. She could smell the peanut butter still, and even taste it on his lips a little. God, this was wrong. So wrong.

But neither of them pulled away. And it almost deepened, but Fred's voice interrupted them, along with an opening of the door.

"Oh my God," Fred said, and Hermione pulled away from George. "I can't believe you actually did it."

And now, it was more like an Eternity in Hell than it was Seven Minutes in Hell. She had to make it look real, but it was worse. Much worse. Because the truth was, she knew what she had just done was the wrong thing to do. Fred didn't even think they would do it. And Hermione had made it look as though they did.

So now, it was an Eternity in Hell. And she walked past Fred out of the broom closet, angry with Fred, and angry with George. But she thought about it for a minute, and became angry with herself.

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**Author's Note: **Bwah ha ha. I'm so evil, aren't I? It's a gift, I know. Haha, just kidding. Anyways, I hope you liked the chapters. Oh my gosh, though, I'm so surprised that this is my most read and reviewed fanfiction. I didn't think it would be this popular. But, hey, I'm not complaining. I'm glad you guys like it.

Anyways, everything excluding the plot is J.K. Rowling's.


	6. The Leaky Cauldron

**Chapter Six – The Leaky Cauldron**

Hermione found her way to the guest room, and just as she had suspected, her suitcase was there. She picked it up, unzipped it, and inside was her wand. She pulled it out and held it tightly in her hand, not sure what to do with herself right now. She was just so mad at herself, that for a moment, she couldn't move. Her nails dug into her skin as she clenched her wand. But she didn't feel any pain. She just stood there, holding her suitcase in one hand, and her wand in the other.

Then her feet started moving, and she found herself in the fake Gryffindor Common Room. Fred and George weren't in the room yet, and she actually smiled for this reason. Ginny and Ron looked up at her, gasping as they saw the suitcase in her hand. Then both of their eyes traveled to her wand, and then back up to her face. Ginny's face was full of shock, but Ron looked a little relived. She was still game. But one wouldn't want to mess with Miss Granger at this point of time. She was dangerous, and armed. And then, as their eyes met, Ginny and Ron both looked a little scared. They actually looked scared.

"I'm leaving," she said, as Ron began to say her name. He stopped, and shut his mouth tightly. "It was stupid of me to even come to stay here. It was even stupider of me to play truth or dare with the twins. I was setting myself up for this. And then I had to pull a stupid stunt like that. I thought he actually thought we would. I just had to win a dare. I had to win the dare. You know, I can go book a hotel room, or a room at the Leaky Cauldron or something. Is that place still running? Oh well, I'll go find out."

"Hermione, what happened? Where are Fred and George now? I mean, yeah, the Leaky Cauldron is still running. But what _happened_, Hermione?" Ginny asked, and Hermione shrugged. Who cares, really? As long as they didn't know where _she_ was, then everything was going to be fine. But, just as she thought that, Fred and George burst into the room. Hermione tried to hide the suitcase behind her, but it was too late. They had already seen it. And they pointed down at it.

"What is that? Are you… are you _leaving_?" Fred asked, his hand still outstretched and pointing at the suitcase. Hermione pulled it out from behind her, and smiled, nodding. "Oh, come on, Hermione. It was just a stupid game of _Truth or Dare_. Come on, Hermione, don't leave. It's just a game. I'm sorry, Hermione." He looked apologetic, but Hermione just continued to smile, and shook her head.

"That's all right. Really. But I'm going to go stay at the Leaky Cauldron. If you need me, I'll be there. Oh, and thank you for letting me stay here. Even though I didn't really get to do much staying," she said, and turned back to Ginny and Ron. "Listen, it was great to see you guys. I'll visit occasionally, and don't be afraid to just pop in on me at the Leaky Cauldron. I need to look for a house while I'm there, and I'll give you the address once I buy one. By the way, I'm sorry Ron. I'm really sorry. But you need to understand that if I didn't leave, you would've been hurt even more. You would have rather had me leave."

"Hermione," George started, but she held up a hand. And she waved, just a quick wave, and disapparated to the Leaky Cauldron. She looked around at it, and thought how different it looked. The tables were now booths, and the bar had more stools lined up at it. It was busier than ever, to make things even _better_. And Tom was gone. Some new guy, who looked rather young—probably around Hermione's age—stood at the bar, fiddling with a toothpick, waiting for someone to order a drink.

Hermione still felt a bit tipsy from the three fire whiskeys she had had, she wasn't going to order another drink. But she went up to the bar, to ask if they had any available rooms. If they didn't, then she would just find a muggle hotel, or motel, and book it. Except they were very expensive, and she didn't have much muggle money with her. She had spent a lot of it while she was in Wales.

"Um, hi. Do you have any available rooms?" Hermione asked, plastering a smile on her face. She ran a hand through her hair, and looked at the bartender. He looked rather familiar. Very familiar, actually. The name was on the tip of her tongue. She knew him. From Hogwarts, most likely, but she couldn't put her finger on it. And then it came to her. "Seamus Finnegan?"

"Uh, yeah, how did you know?" he asked, but shook his head. "Nevermind. One room, you said? Uh, yeah, we have just one left. But nobody has wanted it because it's a bit of a rat hole, but if you want, you can go up look at it before you book it. God, this place has gone down the drainpipes since I was at Hogwarts…but, sorry. Here, take the keys. Just come back down after you look at it."

Hermione nodded, and walked up the stairs, and down the hall until she reached the room number that was on the keys: nine. She stuck the key into the door, and opened it. Seamus hadn't lied it was indeed a rat hole. Literally. She saw a rat run across the floor when she opened the door. It was dusty, and the wallpaper was peeling off. It looked as though no one had stepped foot into the room for years. She backed away from it and shut the door. She may have been desperate for a place to stay, but she wasn't _that_ desperate.

She ran back downstairs and over to the bar. He laughed when he saw her face, since it was apparently freaked out, and took the keys from her outstretched arm. "Didn't like it? Yeah, no one does. I would fix it up, but I'm too lazy and I'm only a bartender. The maids are supposed to, but they don't like the room. They say it feels awkward to be in it. Like something is in the room that's not supposed to be there. I think that's a load of bull. Nobody wants the room since they don't clean it. God," Seamus said, and Hermione nodded. "There's no available rooms other than that one, sorry."

"That's okay. I'll just go find another hotel or something," she sighed. "Uh, I know your name because I went to Hogwarts with you, by the way. I was in Gryffindor, in your year." He looked up from the toothpick he was playing with, and looked up and down her. Clearly, he still didn't know who she was. She shook her head. That was good. No one knew who she was. No one could recognize her when they first saw her.

"Uh, sorry, I don't…" he trailed off, looked back at her. He stared into her face, and ended up only a few inches away from it. She backed up a little, and he pulled back, looking embarrassed. "Huh. I think I know who you are, I just don't _know_ who you are. I know, I know, that makes no sense, at all, but it really does makes sense. Which, again, makes no sense. Sorry. I'm just rambling on."

"Hermione," she said, and he looked confused for a moment. "Hermione. I'm Hermione Granger. You know, the Head Girl, the know-it-all, the brightest witch in your year. The muggleborn? Hermione Granger." She said, and his mouth dropped to form a huge "O". For a moment, he looked stunned, and then he just looked embarrassed. As if he should have known it was her. Or as if the whole time he did know who it was, he just couldn't get the name to come out. Like he had just said.

"Hermione. I'm sorry. You just look so different now. I could've spotted you a mile away if you still had your bushy brown hair. It's thin now… and you're wearing makeup? See, you can't really blame me for not knowing it was you," Seamus said, and she smiled at him. "Can I touch it?" He gestured towards her hair, and she nodded, and he touched a strand of her hair with his rough-looking hands. He seemed almost taken aback when he first touched it from the smoothness of it, but then he dropped his hand and looked at her.

"It's nice. Is this seriously your real hair? Sorry, I shouldn't have asked that," he said, standing up straight behind the bar. Hermione, taking this chance to look at how he changed, glanced over his body. He was actually well built, with some big biceps. He had obviously been working out. Maybe he was playing a little bit of Quidditch, since he was always a fan. His hair was short and spiky, still blonde, but a little darker. He was a handsome boy, really. And of course, he was probably going out with someone like Lavender Brown.

"That's okay. And yeah, it's my real hair," she said, still smiling at him. "So, uh, why are you working here?" She looked around. She had liked it without the booths, and the bar felt too crowded with all of the bar stools. It just didn't feel like the Leaky Cauldron anymore. And if that room was even remotely what the other rooms they had, she'd rather stay with Fred and George. No doubt. Okay, well maybe she wouldn't stay with them still, but who needs details? She would stay with _practically_ anyone.

"Listen, I'm sorry we didn't have any rooms. Or any good rooms, rather. But hey, you can stay at my house if you want. It's kind of a mess, though, but not as bad as the room upstairs. But if you don't mind me asking, where have you been for the past two years? Since you obviously haven't been here. You'd have a house if you did. Nevermind, forget I even asked that. Anyways, you are welcomed to stay at my place. I mean, you know me, it's not like I'm some stranger asking you to stay. Nevermind, that makes me sound desperate. You know, I think I'll just be quiet and let you talk a little," he said in his Irish accent. Hermione laughed, and bit her lip.

Hadn't she learned? Never accept offers to stay at someone's house. Especially if they are Fred or George. But, come on, she was desperate, and she didn't have enough money to stay at a motel. And true, she did know Seamus well enough to trust him. Well, trust him enough to agree. And she did consider him a friend. Not a best friend, but a friend. Anyone who offered her a place to stay at this point would be her friend—except Fred or George. And he did sound like he wanted to. Not at all desperate, like he had thought, but more worried. She guessed that he didn't do this for a lot for people. Maybe none at all.

"Okay," she agreed, and his face literally lit up. He just looked happy that he hadn't scared her away, more than anything else. "But on one condition!" The look of pure joy disappeared, and he nodded very intently, and very seriously. "I don't want to play truth or dare. Never again, do I want to play truth or dare. Deal?"

"That's a deal," he said, and held out his hand. She looked down at it, and then back at his face. She smiled, and grabbed his hand, shaking it.

--------------------------------

**Author's Note:** Chapter six, done! Phew! That's a load off of my shoulders. I'm going to get straight to work on chapter seven. And don't worry. There isn't any truth or dare in it. Seamus has kept his side of the deal. Okay, well, there was really only one side, but whatever. Now I need to shut up, before I tell you any more stuff about the next chapter. And we wouldn't want that.

As much as I _wish_ that I was J.K. Rowling and owned all the characters, and the setting for this chapter, I don't, and I am not. Too bad for me. All I own is the plot. Oh well, I suppose that's still pretty good.


	7. Gryphon Leggiadre

**Chapter Seven - Gryphon Leggiadre**

Hermione sat down at the bar while Seamus finished his shift, laying her suitcase next to her stool. She just asked for a glass of water, to try to calm herself from the three fire whiskeys she had had. She had a bit of a headache right now, and her eyes weren't working correctly anymore. She was tired, but she didn't say anything. She couldn't. She was not about to complain, especially because Seamus had offered her a place to stay. But God! How long did his shift last?

"I only have fifteen minutes left," Seamus said, almost as though he had read my mind. "Sorry about this. I usually work a little late because nobody else will. And, hey, it pays for my dinner, doesn't it? So, yeah, I only have about fifteen minutes left. Then we can head back to my house, and I'll set up a cot or something for you." Hermione smiled happily, nodding. Fifteen minutes. Only fifteen more minutes. She could make it through fifteen minutes. That would be easy. Like taking a test.

Apparently the fifteen minutes seemed to last longer than she thought. She had no recollection of going to Seamus' house that night. She just woke up in a bed, her clothes from the day before still on. Okay, she always changed into her pajamas. What was up with this? Why did she not remember even going to his house? Hell, she didn't even remember making it through the fifteen minutes at the Leaky Cauldron, nevertheless, _leaving_ it. She sat up, and saw that she hadn't even taken off her makeup. Well…she saw that her mascara left marks on the pillow that had lay beneath her head. She _always_ took off her makeup at night.

"Do you like scrambled eggs?" a voice from another room asked. She turned to face the voice, and saw Seamus sticking his head through what looked like the kitchen doors. Hermione looked around, and saw that she was in a cot, in his living room. She must have fallen asleep while she was still at the Leaky Cauldron. God. How embarrassing. Her suitcase was next to the bed, on a chair, and still fully zipped. "God, you sure were tired. You fell asleep when I still had about ten minutes of my shift left. I told my boss I had to go, and I took you here. It's eleven o'clock in the morning. Do you normally sleep for twelve hours?"

"No. Normally I sleep for eight. I'm sorry. I was really tired last night, I guess. I had had a rough night before I got to the Leaky Cauldron, and…well…I had to drink three mugs of fire whiskey. I don't know if I had ever had fire whiskey before. Don't ask. It didn't end well, I'll just say that," Hermione smiled, and Seamus shrugged her off. "And yes, I like scrambled eggs. Thanks. Uh, where is your bathroom?"

Seamus leaned back through the door and pointed down a narrow hallway. "First one on your left," he directed, and Hermione nodded thankfully, and picked up her suitcase. She climbed out of her bed and went into the bathroom, setting her suitcase on the counter. She looked at herself in the mirror, and frowned. She looked horrible. Even without the make up she would look terrible. She could see why Seamus was so concerned.

Her face was gaunt, and she could see her cheekbones beneath her flesh. She was fairly pale, and her eyes looked like they were bulging out of their sockets. She took off her shirt and examined her shoulders. They were bony, and her arms looked like sticks rather than arms. She stripped off her pants, and saw her legs just as bad as her arms. God, she could see part of her ribcage. It was hard to look at herself. She was so skinny. She wasn't ill. She was just incredibly skinny. But God, what Wales had done to her…

Hermione turned on the hot water in the tub and took off her undergarments. When the tub was full enough, she turned off the water and stepped into the water. It was hot. So hot that it felt cold against her skin. She loved that feeling. She dunked her whole body, head and all, under the water and sat there for a moment. She couldn't breathe. And for a moment that felt so damn good. She sat back up and sucked in the air, taking deep breaths. Then she took a chance to wash her hair and body.

As she got out, she drained the water and grabbed a towel. She was cold now, after stepping out of that hot water. She wrapped the towel around herself, and ran a hand through her hair. She missed her old hair: her old bushy hair. She really did. Even if she knew she had so get rid of that hair. It wasn't a choice. But she wasn't exactly forced to let go of it. It just wasn't her decision.

She unzipped her suitcase and pulled out a dress shirt and a sweater, and a pair of khaki pants, along with her undergarments. She slipped on her underwear and bra, and then put on her pants. She buttoned her dress shirt up, and then pulled her gray sweater over it. She wiped off the steamed-covered mirror, and looking at herself. She didn't look horrible now. She didn't look _as_ skinny, or as dirty. She pulled out her wand and dried her hair. She brushed through it with a comb, and for a moment it frizzed, before settling down.

She pulled out her bag of makeup, and put a layer of eyeliner on. She brushed some mascara on, her eyelashes thickening. She put on a tad of foundation and cover up, and then patted some blush on. Pursing her lips, she applied some lipstick on, a rosy pink blend. She examined herself in the mirror, turning side-to-side, never breaking eye contact with the other Hermione. She looked better. She didn't look incredibly sick anymore—a little gaunt, still, but not deathly looking.

She folded her dirty clothes and put them into a plastic bag in her suitcase. She zipped it up and opened the door back into the hallway. She sat her suitcase on her cot, and sniffed the air. It smelled like bacon. And something burnt. She opened the door to the kitchen, and saw Seamus scratching his head looking at what she thought was supposed to be scrambled eggs.

"I'm guessing that you had a little trouble," Hermione laughed, and he nodded. "But the bacon looks good." She gestured towards the late of bacon, and picked up a piece. She took a bite out of it and faked a smile. It was horrible. "Mmm. Delicious."

"I can't cook," he said, leaning over and taking a piece of bacon. He bit into in and nearly spit it out. "I didn't even know that you could ruin bacon. But I did it. I mean, it looks good, but way does it taste so…horrible? Oh yeah, because I can't cook to save my life. Maybe we should just go out to eat… or something. Since apparently this isn't working out, and I used all of my eggs." He smiled lightly, and Hermione bit her lip, holding back a laugh. She nodded, and they walked out the back door.

"Where to?" he asked her, and she took in a big gulp of air, and exhaled it. She hated making decisions. Especially as a guest in someone's home. So she simply shrugged, and he crossed his arms. They were walking down the street, the busy roads near the Leaky Cauldron. Anywhere for breakfast but there would be fine. "How about that new place down on Diagon Alley? It was only just built, like, two months ago. It's really nice, and they never ruin their bacon or their eggs."

Hermione laughed, and agreed. They slowly walked down the road and into the Leaky Cauldron, and crossed over into Diagon Alley. They stopped in front of a large building, one she hadn't noticed when she first walked down this street at her return. And, to make things better, it was right across the street from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. But the restaurant, Gryphon Leggiadre, looked like everything else on the street.

It wasn't until they stepped inside that she was awed by what she saw. With somewhat of a Spanish build, it was somewhat dark inside, the lights dim and the tables close together. Each one had a white table close on it, with a jar of Olive Oil, and a candle. It looked fancy, and she certainly wasn't dressed for it. She turned around to face Seamus. She couldn't eat here if she wasn't even _dressed_ for it.

"Come on, look at everyone else. It's really not that fancy," he laughed, as though he had read her mind, and gestured around the restaurant. She turned back around and finally took a deeper look at the interior of the building. People had on shorts, t-shirts, jeans… now she felt as though she was _too_ dressed up for this place. Strange. It was such a nice looking place, so it was rather funny how casual it was. "I'll go put our name in."

She watched as he passed her, and thought silently to herself. _This place actually serves breakfast? Looks more like a place I'd go to for supper. Looks as though they'd have good food though, since people obviously like to come here for breakfast. And I'm starving._ Seamus gestured for her to come over, and told her there wasn't a wait. The hostess took them to a tiny table for two, and gave them their breakfast menus.

"They make everything I'm horrible at making," Seamus joked, "which is everything." Hermione opened her menu, and looked down at it. Pancakes, about twenty different kinds of them, eggs served however you like them, waffles, toast, oatmeal, bacon, cereal, omelettes, muffins, donuts, ham, sausage, potatoes, and basically anything else that you could name off the top of your head. Plus some things she had never heard of.

Hermione looked up and down the menu one last time before making a decision. And it was still a fairly difficult one. "I think I'll go simple. A coffee, and the special: one pancake, one egg, one meat, and potatoes. Okay, maybe that isn't very simple, but oh well. It's…seven galleons? Maybe I'll pick something else then, since that is a little expensive. Uh, I'll just get a pan—"

"Get whatever you want. I'm paying for it, and I really don't mind. Each as much as you want…as you can. You look as though you haven't had food for a few weeks," Seamus said, finally mentioning how skinny she looked. She frowned, but nodded. When the waitress arrived, she ordered the special, as did Seamus.

"Listen, Seamus, you didn't have to do any of this for me, and I'd be happy to pay for this breakfast. You offered me my home, which you didn't have to do, and you are buying me breakfast, which you didn't have to do. I want to do something for you. So, let me pay for this breakfast. Please. I feel awful, letting you do everything for me. You didn't have to. And I'll be looking for a house this week anyways, so…" Hermione trailed off, as the waitress came out with the food in minutes. It all looked so delicious.

"Hermione, I wanted to do all of this for you. People who care about other people do this kind of stuff. I'm paying, alright? Don't argue with me, missy," he said, just as Hermione opened her mouth again. She narrowed her eyes, and put a piece of pancake in her mouth. "Good. Eat, and I'll pay afterwards."

"Seamus, a normal person wouldn't do any of this, and you know it. A normal person would not offer someone a place to stay. A normal person wouldn't do that and pay for breakfast at the most expensive place in Diagon Alley. A normal person isn't that nice," Hermione rolled her eyes, chewing on a piece of bacon. It had been half covered in maple syrup, but really, it didn't taste that bad.

"I'm not a normal person, am I? I'm a wizard," Seamus said jokingly. "But seriously, why wouldn't a normal person help _you_? You looked like you hadn't eaten in weeks when I first saw you, you're pale, and personally, you looked like you had just came out of a Halloween magazine, for God's sake. All your clothes are too big for you now, and you're all shaky."

"That's not true!" Hermione retorted, even though she knew for a fact he was correct. "Okay… maybe… maybe it is, but it's not my fault. I've tried eating everything I could. But some things just don't work out, even when you try. Don't you ever feel like that? Because I have. Now let me pay!"

"Not on your life."

"Let me pay…"

"No."

"Yes!"

They were getting surprising close, leaning over the unlit candle on the table. She could feel his breath on her face, his nose just inches away from hers. "No," he said quietly, and she could almost feel his lips moving as he formed the word.

"Just let me," she begged. "Please."

Seamus didn't say anything for a moment. He looked at her, her gaunt face, her brown eyes, her thin hair. "Fine," he said, clearly unhappy, and Hermione smiled. She knew she would get her way at some point. She always did. She didn't know what was coming next, however.

Their noses were now touching, their lips locked. Her heart was pounding, and she felt nervous for a moment. And for some reason, she didn't feel the least bit awkward. She and Seamus were friends. They knew each other from school; he was so nice to her. She wouldn't deny the fact that she returned the kiss. Okay, well, maybe she'd deny it, but oh well.

"Excuse me, but public displays of affection aren't normally welcomed in restaurants," a voice said, and Hermione turned her head to face Fred, who was smirking, and leaning on the back of her chair.

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**Author's Note:** Gosh, took me long enough, didn't it? I was so mad at myself for taking this long. I would get on the computer, and open up this document, and I wouldn't type anything. It was like my fingers wouldn't work. But anyways, I did that about ten times, until now, when I finally decided to get cracking. But I'm done now. That totally twisted it up, didn't it?

Anyways, this is chapter seven. I'll probably start chapter eight tomorrow, and work on that hopefully all day so I can get it finished. After that I gotta work on a math project next week, so no updates for awhile.

Thanks to Zavi, who helped me while I finished this chapter!

This belongs to J.K. Rowling. Except the plot, which belongs to me.


	8. Apology

**Chapter Eight - Apology**

Hermione ran a hand nervously through her hair, leaning against the back of the chair once again. She looked up at him and faked a smile, baring all of her teeth. She opened her mouth to say something, but when nothing but her breath, which smelled like maple syrup and bacon, came out, she shut it again and continued to smile. Fred faked a smile back, and turned around to face George, and muttered something to him. George looked somewhat uncomfortable, and a little upset.

"So, I see you've been well since you left," Fred said, and Hermione crossed her arms. Not as though _that_ was any of their business. Sure, she had been well, but really! They couldn't just barge into this restaurant and come over to them and start interrupting them… well, not their conversation, but something better. Was that anyway to treat an old, as much as it pains her to say, friend? Sure, it _was_ public display of affection, but most people know better than to interrupt them!

"Oh, so well. I went to the Leaky Cauldron to try finding a room to stay in. Let me tell you, that place…it's not very nice anymore, no offense, Seamus. So anyways, I didn't want the only available room, and then Seamus offered me his home. It was so nice of him," I added, facing Seamus and smiling at him. "He set out a cot, I guess, and I slept, and then woke up and took a shower. Now we're out to breakfast, since Seamus thinks that he can't cook." Which _was_ partially true, but she wasn't about to say that in front of his face.

"I see," Fred said, just as an arm linked with his. For a moment, Hermione thought it was George, and my, how strange that would've been. But then Meg stepped out from behind him, and smiled down at Hermione. She looked particularly evil this morning, her smile more like a smirk than anything else. It didn't help that she narrowed her eyes at Hermione as she met her gaze. Hermione raised her eyebrows at her, clearly confused. She thought that Meg had apologized…and they were…well, they weren't friends, but acquaintances.

"Hello, Hermione, how are you?" she asked, and then smiled at her once she looked over at Seamus. Hermione turned her head and looked at him, and he smiled at her uncomfortably. She looked back over at Meg and bared her teeth as she smiled back at her. "Fred and I go here for breakfast every morning, since it's opened. Okay, Fred, George, and I. But isn't this place just charming? And they're open all day, six to eleven. Such a marvelous place. And who's your friend again, I don't believe we've met?"

"I'm, uh, fine, thanks. This is Seamus. Uh, Seamus Finnegan," Hermione introduced, and she reached over and held out her hand to Seamus. He shook it, and she introduced herself. "This place _is_ very nice. Very, very nice. But expensive. We were arguing over who was paying the bill. I wouldn't let him, you see. I'm just that stubborn, I guess. But still, he had taken me into his home." Meg smiled, and laughed. She slid her arm down and enlaced fingers with Fred.

Hermione looked back at George again. He still looked extremely uncomfortable, but he wasn't saying anything. Hermione reached into her pocket and pulled out about sixteen Galleons, and dropped them on the table. She stood up, looked at Seamus, and he followed her lead. She brushed crumbs off of her pants and shirt onto the floor, and smiled at Meg.

"It was wonderful to see you again, even if it has only been a couple of hours. But we must be off now," Hermione nodded, and brushed past them. She let Seamus walk ahead of her, but then paused, turning back around and looking at George and his peanut butter-free hair. He looked back at her, and she frowned. "I'm sorry, George. It was just one of my simple mistakes. I'm sorry." Fred and Meg looked at each other, and George looked down at the floor. Hermione smiled one last time at them, and then left with Seamus.

"That was kind of awkward," she said to him as they walked down the streets back to the Leaky Cauldron. "I'm sorry. I was at their house before I came to the Leaky Cauldron. I had nowhere else to go. And then something happened, and I left. I'm kind of skipping around houses… I guess. But I promise, I'll find a house today. I promise. But, will you come with me? I'm kind of unsure of where to look."

"Yeah, of course I will," Seamus agreed, and Hermione slipped her hand into his. He looked down at their hands, and back at Hermione. But she wasn't looking at him. She was looking straight ahead of them, smiling.

They were at the Muggle Real Estate building. It was small, and the ceiling was low. Seamus, who had grown considerably taller over the period of time in which Hermione was gone, was almost touching the ceiling. Hermione explained her situation to the Land Agent, and the lady at the desk, the Land Agent, nodded. She stood up from behind the desk—and no wonder the ceiling was so low, she was extremely short—and flipped through the pages of a book.

"Pick one, we will go look at it. You have a car, yes?" the Land Agent nodded, and Hermione smiled. Okay, so _she_ didn't have a car, but Seamus did. Hey, he lived in the Muggle part of London. He needed to have a car, he couldn't just apparate everywhere. People would ask questions. Hermione nodded at the Land Agent, and she and Seamus went over to look at the pictures in the book.

"I have a bank account with money left over from my parents in it. I can't afford any thing too big, though," Hermione explained to him, and he nodded. She flipped the page, and found a house. A cute, cozy little house. She smiled, and jabbed her finger at the page. "That's the one. I needn't get anything larger than necessary. It looks perfect. We need to go look at it."

And they drove off, the Land Agent driving in her own car and leading the way. They stopped at the house…which looked just like the picture, only there was a for sale sign in the front of it. The Land Agent unlocked the front door with one of her many keys, and the went inside. It was only one floor, with a kitchen, one bedroom, a study, a living room, one bathroom, and a dining area. It was so cute, and it really was just what she wanted. She turned to the Land Agent and nodded. Buying a house was so easy!

Or not. The Land Agent made them drive all the way back to the Real Estate office, and handed Hermione a whole stack of papers. She flipped through them and sighed. Seamus smiled at her, holding back a laugh. It was not this hard in Wales. Then again, she was only renting the house, and most of the time she wasn—no, she was not going to go there. That was the past.

She must've been there for a few hours filling out those papers. Her hand hurt, and she was getting sluggish. Seamus was leaning on the table, fast asleep. Hermione smiled as she looked up at him, and then went back to the forms. God, why the hell were there that many forms? Are they trying to kill people? She still had about five more pages to go through.

But when she finished, she expected the Land Agent to say she could move in whenever, but no. That was not the case. An inspector had to be over to, well, inspect the house, and an exterminator had to go over to make sure there were no bugs crawling around. It was a fairly old house, and a lot of the old ones had termites in them. Then they had to install a refrigerator and stove for her, but that had to come out of her own money. Next the movers had to get all of her stuff from the storage place down in Wales and carry it all the way down here. Why does it take so long? She couldn't even move in for another two or three months.

She poked Seamus until he woke up, and she laughed at him. He drove them both back to his house, and she collapsed on her cot. "Good God, that took forever," she complained, and Seamus fell on the cot next to her. "Did it take that long for _you_ when you bought this house?"

"No where _near_ that long. But then again, you took ten minutes to fill out one page of the contract and other liability forms. I have messy handwriting, and I just wanted to get it over with. You made sure you crossed her t's and dotted your i's. You're crazy, that's what you are," he joked, and Hermione punched his arm. Okay, so maybe it was true. But really, it was more like _nine_ minutes per page.

There was silence for a moment, and Hermione thought that Seamus had fallen asleep again, but she turned her head to look at him, and he was staring up at the ceiling… a ceiling much higher than the one at the Real Estate office. "I told you I would buy a house today, didn't I? Better today than tomorrow, I always say. If I had gone tomorrow, maybe that house wouldn't be there. And then it would take longer to find a house. Which would have meant more than two to three months before I moved in anywhere," she told him, and he stood up and looked at the clock on his wall. It was already seven o'clock at night.

"I could handle another few months," he told her, and she smiled at him. "I'm gonna go head off to bed though. This is the one day off from work I get, and I want to actually get to bed early for once, and sleep in late. Good night, Hermione." She stood up and kissed him, basically thanking him for all he had down for her so far. Because, in truth, this was the nicest thing anyone had done for her.

"Good night," she said back, and he smiled, turning around and heading into his room. Hermione dug through her suitcase and found some pajamas to wear. She kicked off her shoes and walked into the bathroom. She stripped off her clothes and slipped into her pajamas: a light pink shirt and gray pants. She folded her dirty clothes and left the bathroom. She placed the dirty clothes inside the bag in her suitcase, and crawled into her bed—her cot.

She slept, and slept, until the next morning when she awoke to the sound of Seamus fumbling through the kitchen. She got up, and looked at the clock. Eight o'clock. _Sleep in late, my ass_, she thought. Then again, guys couldn't sleep in as late as girls could. She got up and went into the kitchen. There was bacon again, which wasn't burnt, eggs, which looked perfect… and he had said he couldn't cook.

"You liar!" Hermione exclaimed, and he turned around to face her. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "You said you couldn't cook. You are the biggest liar I have ever met in my entire life. You sneaky little liar." He smiled at her, and she picked up a piece of bacon and bit into it. "This is amazing! You are so, so, so sneaky. You burnt everything on purpose, didn't you. Just so you could take me to that restaurant. Well, let me tell you something, mister… well… this bacon is very good."

"Ha, you can't be mad at me," Seamus laughed, and held up a fork to her lips with scrambled eggs on them. She opened her mouth, and he fed her the eggs. Those were amazing too. The little liar. "You caught me though. But hey, aren't you happy you tried that place?"

"Well, yeah, I guess. But I thought you said you had no more eggs or bacon," Hermione shrugged, and picked up another piece of bacon and ate it. She sat down in a chair and crossed her legs, looking up at him for an answer. He smiled and shrugged.

"Guess I found some more," he laughed. Hermione rolled her eyes, and took another piece of bacon. God, it was good. No one can deny the irresistible taste of bacon. Not even Hermione Granger. "Oh, by the way," Seamus added, "I went out to get the newspaper this morning, and there was a package her for you. I didn't know who it was from, but I took it in. It's on the counter over there." He pointed behind her, and she looked at the package. It was square, and not very big. Maybe the size of a Rubik's Cube, and wrapped in brown paper.

Hermione ripped the paper off, and found a cube, not a Rubik's Cube, but just a cube. She looked rotated it in her hand, and found a note taped to the side of it. She ripped it off, and unfolded it, looking at Seamus mysteriously. She read the note silently, setting the cube of the table.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Okay, so maybe it was totally awkward at breakfast yesterday. Maybe it was a little awkward the day before yesterday. But I wanted to make it up to you. You apologized, so now I have to apologize. Yeah, I have to. I know what you're thinking. What? Why are you of all people apologizing? Because it's the right thing to do right now._

_I'm sorry. There, I said it. But that's not all. I'm sorry for making you play Truth or Dare. Or Fred making you play Truth or Dare, rather. But same thing._

_Anyways, I put this together as fast as I possibly could. I'm not sure if it works, because I didn't exactly test it, and I put it together, like I said, as fast as I possibly could. If it doesn't work, will you bring it make to me? I want to make sure it does work eventually._

_George_

Hermione reread the note, and picked the cube back up. She didn't get it. She stared at it for a moment, and then stood up. "Seamus, I have to go…go visit someone. I'll be back later," she said, and stole one last piece of bacon. "I just don't get it…"

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**Author's Note:** Phew, I finally finished chapter eight. Geez, now that I realize it, this might be… no, I can't tell you. Because then… I have to stop talking. Maybe I'll finish chapter nine today, and chapter ten tomorrow? Who knows? Well, I'll know, but whatever. Same thing.

I want bacon now. Sorry…

Anyways , the characters, except for Meg, belong to J.K. Rowling, as does mostly everything else except for Gryphon Leggiadre and the plot. I made up those things.


	9. My Immortal Secret

**Chapter Nine – My Immortal Secret**

Hermione carried the cube in her hand, walking towards Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She had made excellent time, arriving in Diagon Alley in only a few moments time. It was rather lucky that Seamus lived to close. Her heart was beating hard, however, although she did not know why. She was nervous, she guessed. Nervous about what? Well, maybe what this cube does. Or what it doesn't do.

She pushed the door of the shop forward, walking hastily in and cutting everyone who was in the long line of people waiting to be served. Several scowls were heard, and she wanted to yell at them to get over it, but she held her tongue. She nearly pushed the person who was being served now out of the way, just to get to Fred. The person glared at her, but she glared right back.

"Fred. Fred, get George out here right now, or let me go back there and talk to him. I _have_ to talk to him," Hermione begged, holding the cube behind her back. Fred stared at her for a moment, before motioning for her to jump over the desk and go into the back room. She smiled and swung her legs over the counter. "Thank you," she added before going into the back room.

The place was familiar, seeing as she was in it only days ago. Although, still, something was different. Maybe the fact that music was playing from the direction of George's working room. She followed the music, which became clearer as she got closer to the room.

_I'm so tired of being here  
Suppressed by all my childish fears  
And if you have to leave  
I wish that you would just leave  
'Cause your presence still lingers here  
And it won't leave me alone_

That song… George said he had the record of the album. She recognized it, but the name of the song did not immediately come to mind. She wondered why he was listening to such a depressing song. There were plenty of happy songs out there, and this one was definitely not one of them.

She saw George sitting in his chair, scribbling away on a piece of parchment with a pencil. Sighing, he flipped the pencil over and erased whatever he just drew. His hair was unkempt, and even though he was facing away from Hermione, she could tell he was tired just by the way he sat in the chair, head held up by his hand and elbow on the desk. She frowned, going over to him and tapping him on the shoulder.

George jumped, spinning around in his chair and putting a hand to his chest. "God, Hermione. Scare a man, will you?" he said, taking a deep breath and exhaling. "What are you doing here? Wh—Oh. You got the letter, and the, uh, cube, did you? I'm guessing it didn't work, since you look awfully, uh, upset. Oh wait, maybe that means that it _did_ work… but then again, I told you to come if it _didn't_ work."

_These wounds won't seem to heal  
__This pain is just too real  
__There's just too much that time cannot erase_

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears  
__When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears  
__And I held your hand through all of these years  
__But you still have  
__All of me_

"No, I haven't tried it yet. I don't exactly know how it works, and it got me kind of confused—don't you _dare_ say anything to that!" she snapped angrily, pointing a finger at him as he opened his mouth, smiling lightly. The smile disappeared, and he crossed his arms, looking up at her. "Why did you send this to me? Am I supposed to be your test subject? Is it going to do something horrible to me?"

George shook his head. "No. I wouldn't have sent it to you if I knew that it was dangerous and that it would hurt you. I am not that stupid, nor am I that mean, as much as you'd probably like to think I am," he growled, his voice rising, and his appearance becoming sharper. He sat up straight and looked her in the eye, narrowing his own. "I'm not that type of person, Hermione."

_You used to captivate me  
By your resonating light  
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind  
Your face it haunts  
My once pleasant dreams  
Your voice it chased away  
All the sanity in me_

"Why are you listening to this song?" Hermione asked him, and he turned to his record player in the corner. "It's just so… depressing."

"It doesn't make any difference. Give me that cube. I want to show you how it works," George said, holding out his hand. Hermione pulled her hand out from behind her back and handed him the cube. He set it on his desk and stood up, holding his hand out over it. A strange, ominous glow immersed from it, and Hermione back slowly up. "Wait. You need to put your hand over it. It needs to know how many people are playing."

"Playing? Playing what?" she asked, pulling her hands in closer to her body and clenching her fists. George smiled, and Hermione reached her arm slowly out towards the cube, unclenching her hands. The cube glowed again, this time a softer purple color. She looked at him, and he scratched his head.

_These wounds won't seem to heal  
__This pain is just too real  
__There's just too much that time cannot erase_

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears  
__When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears  
__And I held your hand through all of these years  
__But you still have  
__All of me…_

"I think you have to ask me first, since I was the first person to put my hand over the cube," he said, blinking slowly. "Go ahead, ask something."

"Ask what?"

"Truth or Dare, of course. I thought you knew what this cube was. After all, you were the one who came up with the idea for the cube. Well, most of the idea. You did the thing with the peanut butter, which made me have the idea to make this cube. Only I made this much more efficient. You don't have to hold it in your hands at all. It's a very smart cube. It knows everything that you are doing. If you don't do a dare, it sprays whipped cream in your face… although I haven't exactly found out how it does that yet, since I haven't tested it. But we can test it out right now! Just you and I, in a small, little game of _Truth or Dare_. And we'll keep it rated at a low level, so don't worry. Fred isn't back here, so there really isn't anything to be worried about. You can trust me," George smiled, and Hermione thought about this for a moment. Should she trust him? Well, she trusted him more than she trusted Fred, but still… what if this was payback? No… he wouldn't.

_I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone  
__But though you're still with me  
__I've been alone all along_

"Fine. Truth or dare?" she asked. "I can't believe I am doing this…"

"Neither can I, actually. Uh…Dare. Let's see what happens if I don't do it. Just give me a wicked random dare. Like sticking my head in the toilet or something. Not that we have a toilet here, but whatever," George shrugged, and Hermione blinked stupidly. What the hell had he just said?

"Fine… uh, I dare you to poor water all over your head," Hermione said, and the box started to glow again. George smiled, and he crossed his arms across his chest. "And then turn off the music."

"No, I am not doing that," he said loudly, and in a very monotone type voice. "And I am most definitely not turning off the music." The box glowed even more, and a blinding flash covered the room. Hermione couldn't see anything until the light went away, and she looked at George. Yeah, that was whipped cream, all right. She reached out a finger and scooped some cream onto it, sticking her finger in her mouth.

"Hey, that's pretty good," she joked, and George laughed sarcastically at her. "Hey, it is. Try some." And George did just as she said. He licked his lips, which were also covered in the white cream, and swallowed. He nodded, scooping some more cream up with his hands.

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears  
__When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears  
__And I held your hand through all of these years  
__But you still have  
__All of me…  
__Me…  
__Me…_

"Okay, Hermione, truth or dare?" he finally asked her.

"Truth, I'm not taking anymore dares from you or your stupid brother ever again," she answered quickly, and he smiled lightly at her. "I usually learn from my mistakes, and I know I definitely did this time." She raised her eyebrows at him, smiling as she waited for her truth.

"Okay, just so you know, if you don't answer the truth, the cube will know. If you don't you'll have to keep doing it, or the cube won't let you out of my sight until you tell me the truth. That was a little thing I added, just because it seemed like a fun idea. Although… that could get weird… what if someone was playing this game and they had to go to the bathroom?" he trailed off on a totally different subject, thinking about this for a few moments. "Anyways, I was wondering… why did you really leave two years ago, and why do you look so different? I knew you were lying before, so…"

"Why do you always have to ruin something fun? Not that I am enjoying this or anything. Oh wait, I'm usually the one ruining everything fun. Ha, whoops. Wait… I just insulted myself. God," she said, and George narrowed his eyes at her. "Fine. I'll tell you. I left two years ago… because… I just can't tell you. You, of all people, I just can't tell. I don't know why… I just can't."

_Long lost words whisper slowly to me  
Still can't find what keeps me here  
When all this time I've been so hollow inside  
I know you're still there_

The redhead frowned, and Hermione sighed. "It's just one of those things, you know? One of those things that you've kept a secret from everyone, just to save them from the truth. Because you're better off not knowing the truth. I'm serious when I say that, too," she told him.

"Come on, it can't be that bad. What, you left because you felt rejected? You left because you felt stupid?" he asked, and she shook her head. He exhaled loudly. "You couldn't even tell Ron that you were leaving. He was heartbroken. He thought it was something he did."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry about that. I really am. But he would have felt bad either way. Look at me. Look at what I've become. This skinny, depressed body. I'm always tired, always weak, always in pain. Because that is what I have become," she snapped at him.

_Watching me, wanting me  
I can feel you pull me down  
Fearing you, loving you  
__I won't let you pull me down_

"I don't get it," he said slowly, as he turned off the record, shaking his head slowly. "I don't get it. What are you talking about."

"I've tried to be stronger. I didn't want to be affected by emotions anymore. What good that is doing me," Hermione laughed to herself, as her eyes watered. "I left for a reason. Do you really want to know what that reason is?" George nodded, and she smirked.

"Fine," she said. "George, I… I left because… God, I can't say it! I…"

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**Author's Note:** I left you in total suspense! Bwah ha ha ha! I am so proud of myself for leaving you like this. And you all sit in your chairs, confused beyond belief, I'm sure. But don't worry. You'll find out why she left in the next chapter, I promise. I swear you will. Or do I? Dun, dun, dun!

Anyways, I'd like to thank mi amiga Belle Heart y mi otro amiga Zavi for being so cool. And Belle Heart is such a great friend/fan, and I haven't properly thanked her. So thankies to them!

Let's see. The plot is mine…that's basically it for this chapter. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Also, the songs, "My Immortal," and, "Haunted," belong to Evanescence.


	10. Inspiration

**Chapter Ten – Inspiration**

_Hermione Granger sat in the waiting room of a regular muggle hospital, awaiting her test results. She hated the hospital. It made her feel… scared. Scared of what could happen to anyone. The hospital was like a deathbed in her eyes. They only had bad news for you. There was no such thing as good news in a hospital. And they always make you wait. Like a novel, right when you're at the good part—or the climax (which may be good or bad)—and you have to put it down. She hated that. Why would they make you wait if they knew that it was going to be bad news?_

_A tall nurse walked up to her, holding a clipboard close to her chest. Hermione looked up, and the nurse frowned at her. Like she had said, bad news. "We have your test results, Ms. Granger," she told the bushy-haired girl. Hermione nodded, and the nurse continued. "They aren't good. The constant bruising, and the bleeding. The weight loss, and your complaint of headaches. The blood test results and the bone marrow biopsy have confirmed it. You have Acute Myelogenous Leukemia, Ms. Granger. This type of cancer must be treated immediately, so we are going to send you to a hospital up in Wales to treat you."_

_"Cancer?" Hermione repeated, dumbfounded. "How can I have cancer? I'm only twenty-years-old. I can't have cancer. That's completely impossible. You must have the wrong test results. My name is Hermione Jane Granger. That's not what it says on the paperwork, is it?"_

_"This is the normal response we get when we tell people that they have cancer. I know it is hard, Ms. Granger, but it is a treatable cancer, and many people survive it. But it has become something to worry about, so we need to get you out to Wales pretty soon," the nurse said, and Hermione's eyes started to water. "Please, Ms. Granger, we just need your cooperation, and everything will be fine. This will be over before you know it. You'll be free to go."_

_"Fine. How am I going to get there, though, I don't have a car. And how am I going to pay for the treatment?" Hermione asked, wiping her eyes, which began to tear, with her sleeve. "I don't think my insurance will cover it, will it?"_

_"Looking at your insurance, I do not think it will cover it. But we may be able to get donations, and you seem to have enough money to cover it. Your parents left you a lot of money when they died," the nurse told her, but Hermione frowned. They didn't die. They were killed. "The treatment is standard. Chemotherapy, and certain medicines will be used in the process. We will provide you with transportation."_

_"Okay. Thank you," Hermione nodded, and the nurse frowned down at her._

_"It is a curable cancer, Ms. Granger. But I won't lie to you. Not everyone survives it. It is your choice, if you want to have the treatment or not," the nurse told her, and Hermione looked back up at her. "A car will come to your home tomorrow if you would like the treatment."_

_"I will. I do. I do want the treatment. I'm only twenty," she explained to the nurse. The nurse nodded, and walked away, going through the swinging doors to the hospital rooms. I'm_ only twenty,_ Hermione thought._ I deserve to live. Especially after what I have gone through._ She stood up, and left, another tear falling down her cheek._

"I have Leukemia. Acute Myeloid Leukemia, actually. I'm in remission now, but I'm not exactly sure how long that could last," Hermione told George, and all the color that was in his face drained. She laughed nervously, running a hand through her hair. "I used a potion to make my hair grow back faster. But it's thin, and straight. I also lost a lot of weight during the chemotherapy, so that's why I'm this thin. No one ever thought that Hermione Granger would go down like this."

"But you're okay. Going into remission means that you are okay, right?" George asked worriedly, wiping the whipped cream off of his face, and Hermione shook her head. "But I thought it's gone if you go into remission."

"No. It can come back. If I'm in remission for a certain period of time it means that I'll be fine, that it's gone, but I still have a little more time to go before they can say that it's fully gone. I'm taking some medicine for it right now, but it can still come back. I'm guessing that you didn't think that this was my big secret," Hermione smiled weakly, running her other hand through her hair. "I told you. You were better off not knowing. You were better off believing my cover-ups, and leaving it at that."

"No, we weren't. Hermione… Fred wasn't, Ron wasn't, Ginny wasn't, and I wasn't. You could've died, and none of us would've known. We would have never had a chance to say goodbye. We would have never had a chance to just talk, like we are now. We would have never had a chance to just… I don't know," George said quickly, and Hermione looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "We would have never played Truth or Dare."

"What are you saying?" Hermione asked him, crossing her arms. "What does Truth or Dare have anything to do with any of this?"

"It doesn't. But we would have never played. I would have never made this cube. We would have never been able to get Ron out of the house, because you would have never came back. Don't you see? If you had died, everything would have been worse," he retorted, grabbing his hair.

"But if I had told you, everything would have been even worse. Yeah, Ron would've been out of the house, but guess where most of you would be. You'd be at the hospital in Wales, with me. Your shop… it would be out of business. Fred would have never met Meg. Ron would be miserable. In fact, everyone would. You did not want to be there to watch me go through this. You did not want to watch me in that room. Trust me. You were definitely better off not knowing," Hermione snapped at him, and he looked at the floor. "None of that would have happened. None of the good things that you have now would be here."

George was, although he hated to admit it, speechless. Because she was right. She was absolutely right. The whole family would've been there to support her, but the shop would've fallen, Meg wouldn't be there… and what about Charlie? He was at St. Mungo's, and they couldn't just leave him. Why were their lives falling apart? Why did everything bad happen to his family?

"Why didn't you go to St. Mungo's to get cured?" George asked suddenly, and Hermione's mouth twitched. She exhaled loudly, and smirked, leaning against the wall of the room.

"Nobody has the cure for cancer. It doesn't matter where I go. And I have more muggle money than I do wizard money. A lot of the money I used to pay for my treatment was the muggle money my parents left me. It would've been too much of a hassle to turn it all into galleons, and such. I didn't have the time," she told him. "And I have muggle insurance to cover most of the cost, also."

"Oh," he simply said, and an awkward silence filled the small room. All that could be heard was the breathing of the two, and the tapping of Hermione's fingers on the wall. "Does Seamus know? Did you tell him? If he's going to be your boyfriend, he'll have to know, won't he?" he finally asked.

Hermione laughed, smiling at the redhead. "Seamus doesn't know, and I'm not planning on telling him. He's not my boyfriend, nor do I want him to be. He's a friend. Nothing more. What you saw at Gryphon Leggiadre, and everything after that, that I did… well… I needed a place to stay. Now that I bought a house, I don't exactly need him anymore, do I?" she joked, and George gaped at her. "I'm just kidding. Geez. You of all people should be able to take a joke. What you saw was just… a mistake, I guess. I was caught up in the moment."

"So, he's not your boyfriend?" George asked, and Hermione shook her head. "That's good. I didn't really like that kid anyways. He's way too… I don't know. He works at the bar at the Leaky Cauldron. That can't be good, can it? I don't trust those type of people. Especially when they're playing around with my little Hermione." He pinched her cheek, old Auntie-style, but she slapped his hand away.

"Hey, I'm not that little. I'm only a year younger than you," she argued, putting her hands on her hips and stood up straight, rather than leaning on the wall. "And why do you care who I go out with? It's not like you're my older brother or anything. Shouldn't you be worrying about Ginny?"

"Aw, she hasn't had a boyfriend since Harry died. At least, I don't think she has. She doesn't tell us these things. So I have to worry about someone, don't I?" George said, winking at her. "Everyone's going to be worrying about you, Hermione. If you tell them. You are going to tell everyone else, aren't you? You could come over to the Burrow for supper, if you want, and tell everyone."

"But, like I said, if I tell everyone, then they're going to be worried about me. I don't want anyone to worry, especially since I haven't had a relapse yet, and that's really good. I don't want to tell them unless I get a relapse," Hermione shrugged, and George frowned. "Look, I'm sorry, but I don't. And isn't it my decision? Do you know what time it is? I have to go, I think."

"Yeah, but… fine. I won't argue with you. But make sure that you are making the right decision, before you leave," George urged, and Hermione smiled at him, shaking her head, lightly. She walked towards him, and gave him a quick hug before disapparating from the room. "Please, Hermione. For the love of God, please make the right decision."

He sat back down in his chair and picked up the Truth or Dare cube. Looking down at his drawing, and then at the cube again, he made his own decision. He started sketching away at his drawing, pencil scratching, and eraser flying. It took him nearly fifteen minutes to finish the drawing, but when he was done with it, he looked at it with satisfaction. It was perfect.

He stood up again and walked out of the room, and into the main shop. He stood next to Meg, and pushed the drawing towards his brother, across the counter.

"Meg, will you please help this person? I need to chat with George," Fred told his girlfriend, and she nodded, moving to be the cashier. She started talking to the person in line, as Fred pushed his brother back into the backroom. They went to the Inventing Room, and Fred looked at his twin, holding the drawing towards him.

"What's this?" he asked, handing him the paper.

"The Truth or Dare Cube box. And the name," George said, pointing to the top of the page. The paper was divided into six squares, each with a drawing of one of the sides of the box. Little scribbles were drawn to show words, and little shapes indicated pictures. On top of the paper was the name, large and long. "It is important to me that this becomes the name."

"Hermione's Truth or Dare?" Fred asked, and George nodded.

"Yep. Hermione's Truth or Dare. My inspiration."

-----------------------------------

**Author's Note:** I don't really have much to say. I really don't. If I did, I wouldn't be saying that I don't have anything to say, now would I?

Let's see… lots of stuff. Plot belongs to me, as does Meg. Characters, etc. belongs to J.K. Rowling. I can't really list everything since there is probably a lot of stuff that belongs to her.


	11. Why?

**Chapter Eleven – Why?**

A week had past since Hermione had last encountered George, and all was going decently. She had received news on her house (apparently, the paper work was all set, and she could move into the house in a month), and everything was all set now. She had had her day off from life—she went to the spa (and, my, was it lovely)—and felt incredibly relaxed now. She didn't feel like her sick self any longer. Her life was going smoothly and correctly for once in her life. It was nice.

She sat at Seamus' kitchen table, biting into a piece of his toast (with Strawberry jam—the best kind), when he sat across from her. The blonde-haired man cleared his throat, causing Hermione to look up at him, setting down her toast. He smiled and slid _The Daily Prophet_ across the table to her, and pointed to one of the articles. She picked it up, examining it carefully before unfolding it and scanning the article.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' New Item Article by Lavender Brown 

_Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, run by our very own Fred and George Weasley, recently released it's new item onto shelves, causing a large amount of people to come to their shop each day. The average number of costumers per day, seventy-two, increased in the past week by one hundred and seventeen people, to an average of one hundred and eighty-seven costumers per day._

_The new item causing this increase in costumers? _Hermione's Truth or Dare_, named after Hermione Granger, who was the top witch at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry four years ago. The cube itself holds many special features, including one that sprays whipped cream all over your head if you do not do a dare. I found out the hard way. The item is among the favorites of costumers who come to the shop daily to buy new objects._

"_It is an amazing object. It really is. If you do not tell the truth, the cube won't let you leave the sight of the other people playing until you tell the truth. And if you refuse to do a dare, it covers your whole head with whipped cream. It is truly an amazing object. One of the best that the Weasley twins have ever come up with," said one man when we questioned him. "I have already used it with my friends, and I just bought it."_

_When asked to comment on the name of the cube, both Fred and George Weasley refused. However, cont. A9_

Hermione snorted as she bit into another piece of toast. "They only didn't want to comment because Lavender Brown was the one who was asking them," she said nastily, and Seamus' eyebrow twitched. "I mean, uh… well… oh come on, she isn't exactly one of the brightest people in the word, and the doesn't exactly seem like the best reporter. She didn't even say the name of that person she interviewed. How professional is that? Unless he requested not to be noted, but most people like to have their fifteen minutes of fame." _Except for Harry…_

"But did you actually read the article? Did you see what the name was? Your name is now one of the biggest deals in all of London. Not that it wasn't before. Everyone knew what you did for Harry Potter, but you are now the face of hilarity. Not in that way, though. What I mean is, everyone now knows your name because the Truth or Dare cube is named after you. Don't you find that a little awkward?" Seamus asked, and Hermione smiled lightly. Okay, so she did find that a tad awkward. _Oh, you're Hermione Granger. The Truth or Dare cube that sprays whipped cream in your face is named after you_.

She wasn't going to say that she was not shocked that they had named the cube that. She was. But then again, she wasn't all that shocked. Especially after what she had told him. Which made her a little upset at the same time. She hated to have people's pity. But really, she was more shocked at how fast the cube hit shelves. In less than a week it had already come out, and anyone who didn't own one were considered the biggest losers in all of London. And no one wanted that fate.

Hermione sat the paper down, folded it again, and pushed it back to Seamus. "It is a little awkward, but I can't exactly say that I didn't see it coming, Seamus. Listen, when I went to visit George, I asked him about the cube. He kind of hinted that he was naming it after me. I had technically given him the idea, after all. Didn't I deserve the name? Although I didn't think that he would actually do it," she lied.

A tap on the window rang through the kitchen, and Hermione saw an owl perched on the window ledge, outside. Seamus went to open the window, and the bird automatically came flying over to Hermione. It held out its leg and—since she had no money on her—she gave the owl the rest of her toast after she untied the letter. The bird flew happily back out the window, still swallowing the rest of the toast as it flew away.

"At least you like reading," Seamus noted optimistically, closing the window and pouring himself a glass of orange juice with his wand. Hermione smirked sarcastically and ripped open the letter, not bothering to see if there was a name on the envelope saying from whom it was.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Okay, so this is my second letter in a week, but that's alright. You haven't came into the shop since… Thursday? Or was it Friday? I have no clue. But in any case, you haven't came into the shop since our last encounter, and so I haven't had a chance to talk to you._

_I'm writing to you in hopes that this letter gets to you sometime soon. I'm quite sure why, but it would be sort of weird if you got this letter a week from today… well… I still don't know the date, so I can't exactly say when today is. Maybe Fred knows. Hold on a second. Wait, you're reading this, you don't have to wait. Anyways, I'll go ask. Nope, he didn't know the date either. Oh well._

_In any case, I'm writing because of _The Daily Prophet_. I'm guessing that you read the article about the Truth or Dare cube being named after you. Well, I'm sorry if I shocked you. It was my idea; I'm not going to lie. If Fred had named it, it probably would've been called _Meg's Truth or Dare_. And nobody cares about her. Don't let her read this letter now. You better not._

_I'm pretty sure that you've read it, so if random people come up you, I don't want you to hate me. Alright? Is that a deal?_

_Write back or something (or come to the shop! You should see how many people are here!),_

George 

Hermione rolled her eyes, putting the letter back into the envelope. "Do you want to go to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and check out my cube?" she asked Seamus, and he smiled so suddenly, and looked so excited, that it scared her. "I'll take that as a yes, my gosh. You're a little excited, aren't you? When was the last time you were there, since you look like you haven't been in ages?"

"A few weeks ago. I need to buy that cube, though. Everyone has it, and it's named after you, isn't it?" he laughed, and hooked arms with Hermione. "Let's go, shall we?" Hermione nodded, and the disapparated into the shop, nearly being run over by people once they appeared there.

It was incredibly busy. It looked like Lavender's data was wrong. It looked as though they could have up to four hundred costumers a day if they wanted to. The shop wasn't even big enough to hold four hundred people. It wasn't big enough to hold however many people were in the shop right now. The line for purchasing was so long that it wrapped around the shop at least twice. And it was only ten in the morning, for goodness' sakes. What type of people go to a joke shop at ten in the morning?

Hermione pushed her way to the counter, hearing various murmurings of people saying her name. She jumped over the counter, without being invited (but why did she need to be, when she was the one the cube was named after?) first. But neither Fred nor George said anything. They didn't notice her either. But Meg did. However, she simply waved to her, smiling and giving her a thumbs up.

Hermione motioned for Seamus to stay behind the desk, and she tapped George on the shoulder. He didn't noticed. Either that, or he didn't care. She tapped him again. Same results. She hit him harder this time—although it was really more like punching him. He finally spun around, and looked so shocked to see Hermione standing there that he nearly fell back into Fred, who didn't even notice. This is what business does to you.

"Hermione! Hermione, you got my letter. Do you only come to this shop when you get my letters? Oh yeah, of course. Because you're perfect, and you follow the rules. You do not believe in pranks and all that other stuff. So, you came. You read the article in the newspaper, I'm guessing?" George asked, but Hermione could not hear a word he was saying above the racket in the shop. She pointed to the back room, and she walked into it, soon followed by George.

"I couldn't hear a word that you just said," she told him, and he bit his lip.

"Yeah, we can't understand anything any of the costumers are saying. They're all too loud. But anyways, I asked if you read the newspaper article. They one by that girl that was in your year, Lavender Brown. She's kind of a brat now. She has more make-up on than any of those American models. And, man, do those girls have a lot of make-up. And she wanted us to give her a free cube for writing the article. I kind of laughed in her face," he said, and Hermione couldn't help but to chuckle.

"I can just imagine that. She probably started crying, didn't she?" Hermione asked, and he slowly nodded his head. She laughed harder this time, before standing up straighter and looking George straight in the eyes.

"Listen, I know why you named the cube after me," she said slowly, and his face fell. She lost eye contact and looked down at her hands, fiddling her thumbs and pulling on her fingers.

"You do?" he asked, and he sounded nervous. "I mean, you do? And why did I do that?"

"You did it because I have cancer," Hermione said slowly, and George swallowed.

"Well… uh… I guess."

"But you know," she started, looking back up at him. "As much as I think that it was really sweet of you to do that, it was kind of insulting. I mean, I hate when people have pity for me. I had it all the time when I was in Wales, and I don't think that I need it now. I can take care of myself, and I don't need people feeling sorry for me. Because I don't want them too." Her voice was stern, and she saw his face fall as he regained eye contact with her.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, but Hermione shrugged him off.

"It was a mistake. But thanks. It was still really sweet of you to name it after me. Nothing I would expect George Weasley, of all people, to do," she said, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "So thank you… but that is why you did it, isn't it?" She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he looked down.

"Um, yeah," he said, touching the spot where Hermione had kissed him, and then scratching the back of his head. "I did feel bad for you."

"I figured as much. I'm not a dumb person. Maybe you should've thought of that before you named the cube," she smiled, and started to walk back out.

"Hermione, wait…" George called, and she turned back to look at him. "That isn't why I named the cube the way I did."

She raised her eyebrows at him again, and walked back towards him. "Then why did you name the cube after me, if it wasn't because of my cancer?" she asked, and he sighed.

"Well… because," George stated, and Hermione frowned at him. "Okay, I named it because… I… because…"

"Are you going to tell me sometime today, Mr. Weasley?" she asked, smiling and putting her hands on her hips. She was getting awfully close to his face. And George felt like he was shrinking to her height as their faces drew closer and closer. "Why did you name the cube after me?" He could nearly feel her lips form those words, they were so close. "Why?"

---------------------------------

**Author's Note: **Phew, I finally finished. After a whole two weeks (or was it more?) of writer's block, I finally had a brain burst at my cousin's basketball game yesterday. So I typed up this chapter—in just less than three hours—and finished it. That's a whole weight of the world off my shoulders. Phew.

I hoped you liked this chapter! I worked hard on it, trust me. My writer's block was killer, I'll tell you. I'm so happy that I finished it! People were getting rowdy. Okay, maybe not rowdy, but they wanted an update.

I don't own anything except for the plot and Meg. Everything else belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling!


	12. Live A Little

**Chapter Twelve – Live A Little**

George's heart pace quickened, and Hermione could feel his deep breathing on her face. To say that this was a little awkward was a massive understatement. This was more than awkward. Extremely awkward. And it was still awkward even as Hermione turned around and started towards the door. Her hair whipped him in the face as she spun around, and he swore some of it got in his mouth. But he wasn't about to say anything.

It was apparent to Hermione that he was not going to tell her. Not now, anyway. That was all right, she supposed. It would be a surprise for her, when time did come that he would tell her. And oh, it was going to be soon. She knew that. For some reason, she knew that there was no way he could help but to tell her. At some point in the near future, anyway. Although, she would rather him make it at a convenient point in time. But beggars can't always be choosers, now can they?

Just as she was going to go back into the monster of a shop that was known as Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, George called her name again. God, this was getting annoying. Was he going to tell her or not, for God's sake? The poor girl was getting testy. And nobody—I repeat, _nobody_—wants that.

"Hermione, listen," George sighed, as Hermione turned back around to face him. She crossed her arms across her chest, leaning her weight all on one leg, and looked at him. "Listen, please. Why don't you come over to my place for supper tonight? Fred isn't going to be there, he'll be out with Meg. And, I promise—and you can quote me on this—I won't do anything that has to do with _Truth or Dare_. Please come over? I won't do anything, I swear to God, I won't. Please?"

Was it just her, or did she hear a bit of… desperateness in his voice? She smiled at this, and looked down at the floor. "Well… if Fred won't be there… and no _Truth or Dare_ is going on… I suppose it couldn't hurt. I'll come over at about seven?" she asked, and George nodded, a flicker of a smile appearing on his face. Hermione giggled to herself and turned around again, walking out of the backroom a bit slower, in case he happened to call her name again. But he didn't so she patted Fred on the back and walked out of the shop with Seamus.

And, man, was George making this convenient for her.

"Wait, so you're going out with Fred Weasley? But I thought he already had a girlfriend?" Seamus questioned, scratching the back of his head with his hand. "Unless… Hermione, I didn't think that you were capable of such… such… whatever the word is. I can't think of it right now, but it will come to me eventually. The word, I mean… but anyways, why are you going out with Fred Weasley?"

"Not Fred Weasley, silly," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "_George_ Weasley. And I'm not going out with him. Well, I am. But not really. I'm going over to his house for dinner. So technically that's not going out with him at all. Besides, you make it sound like a crime, going out with a friend. Even though, technically speaking, we aren't going out."

"You know," Seamus snickered, leaving on the kitchen table and looking at Hermione's brown eyes, "I've read once that the first sign of someone liking someone else is that the first person denies it. Which is, as far as I can tell, exactly what you are doing." He smirked, and Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms across her chest. This was not very amusing at all.

"I don't like George Weasley. I mean… well, I don't. How could I?" she snapped at the blonde haired man in front of her. "How could I like someone like George Weasley? He's, like, the master of all mischief while he's with his brother, and I'm more like… well, I'm more like the Queen of the Damned. I follow the rules, and I take them too seriously for my own good, and he doesn't. And personally, I take that into consideration when I fall in love."

Seamus frowned down upon his friend, patting her hand gently. "Then you take falling in love a little too seriously, don't you?" he asked her, and she looked away from him. "Oh, come on, Hermione. You need to loosen up. Stop being the Queen of the Damned, and start being the person you want to be. Because you aren't that person anymore. You're not the girl I knew back at Hogwarts."

"Listen, I have to go. I'll be late… it's already seven," Hermione said, apparating away. She had, of course, changed out of what she had been wearing earlier that day. She was now wearing black pants, a red sweater, and her hair tied back into a half ponytail. Over her red sweater she was wearing a tight leather jacket. Hopefully she wasn't too dressed up. Or underdressed… you could never tell with these kinds of things.

She found herself on the doorstep of George's—_Fred_ and George's—house. Looking up at it now, it looked even larger on the outside than it felt on the inside. She knocked loudly on the door, and it was answered by none other than George Weasley himself. Well, who else would answer the door? Fred was out with Meg on a date or something… that's what George had said, right?

"Uh, hi. Come on in," he said, pushing up against the doorway to let her through. She smiled at him and slipped through, easily, and quietly. "Uh… I kind of had an issue with the dinner. It got a little burnt, I think. Well, it was all black. Is that bad? I'm not much of a cook, so I doubt that that could be a good thing."

"Yeah, no. Black food is not a good thing at all," Hermione laughed, and turned to face him. "So what are we doing then? I could always make something."

"But, you're the guest. You're not supposed to do anything," George retorted, and Hermione gave him a you-can't-cook-to-save-your-life-and-I-don't-want-to-starve look, and he frowned, crossing his arms. "Fine, you know what. Why don't you go get something ready, and while it's cooking we can just talk or something?"

Hermione smirked, slowly finding her way to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the first thing she saw: a package of tortellini. "First of all, this should be frozen. But that doesn't matter… it still works either way…" she said, waving the tortellini at George's face. She searched her purse that she brought… only to find that she had forgotten her wand. "Want to start that for me?" she asked, pointing at the stove. She found a pot and put some water in it, setting it on the lit stove.

"We'll have to let it boil before we can put the tortellini in. How do you and Fred survive? Do either of you know how to cook?" Hermione continued, putting her hands on her hips, still facing the stove. She turned around slowly, and smirked when she saw him shake his head. "Wow. Do you just go out to dinner every night then?" He nodded, making a face that said, _yeah, basically_.

"You know, without Fred, you aren't that bad a guy," Hermione said seriously, and George looked at her, cocking an eyebrow. "Not that with him you're a bad guy. I'm just saying. You're more… sensitive without him. More serious, you know? I like that. I just kind of wished that you were serious all of the time. I mean, you're a funny guy, but… it can get a little out of hand sometimes."

"Come on, I want to show you something," George smiled, nodding his head towards the entryway to another room. He walked through it, into the living/common room, and pulled a photo down from mantle over the fireplace. "Look at this," he motioned, as Hermione got closer.

She took the picture from his and looked down at it. A young Fred and George. God she could barely tell them apart now, but back in this picture, when they were barely five-years-old, they looked completely identical. She could not see one trait different than the other twin. Except one thing.

George's smile.

"That one's you," she said, pointed down on the five-year-old who was pulling on the other twin's hair. "I can tell.' She handed the picture back to him, and looked up at George. "You were rascals even back then, weren't you? How your mother put up with you, I have no clue."

Hermione fumbled around in her coat pocket nervously, and looked away from the redhead.

"I'm not really sure either. I guess she just sort of… did. I dunno. She's pretty amazing though," he muttered, and Hermione smiled.

"Do you think you're ready to tell me why you named the _Truth or Dare_ cube after me yet? I mean, seriously. Don't I have the right to know? Don't I? Please? Don't make me beg, because you know I'm not going to," she said, turning back to face him and placing her hands on her hips. He chuckled at her and flung himself down onto his couch. Hermione sat next to him, punching him in the arm. "You'll have to tell me someday. Why did you name the _Truth or Dare _cube after me?"

"Because you have cancer, all right? I did it because I felt bad for you. And I know you aren't supposed to do anything out of pity, because apparently people hate that, like you said. But you know what? I felt bad. I needed to do something for you to make you feel better," George sighed, and Hermione frowned.

"Want to know what would make me happy?" she asked him, and he raised an eyebrow. "If you would go get me a glass of water. Please?"

George rolled his eyes at her and stood up, walking back through the entrance way back to the kitchen… or, at least, he attempted to go through the entrance way. He seemed to get a little stuck just behind the wall. Hermione could barely see him, just barely, but she could. She smirked, jumping up and pointed at him. He turned around and watched her pull the _Truth or Dare_ cube out of her pocket.

"Not very fun to be beaten at your own game, is it?" she asked him, throwing the cube up in the air, and then catching it as it fell back down. "I was pretty sure that you were lying. Which is why I asked you to go get me a glass of water. You can't leave my sight, right? So, until you tell me the truth, you can't leave my sight. What would happen if I left? You'd have to follow me, right? That's pretty funny."

"God, Hermione, you are so annoyingly smart," George groaned, and Hermione giggled.

"I know. But, hey, you set yourself up for this one, you know. I'm surprised that you didn't even figure it out. Huh. I actually am very shocked," Hermione said, extremely seriously. "So, want to answer the question for me? Pretty please, with sugar on top?"

"Only if you answer a question for me," he replied, and Hermione shrugged. "Did you actually agree to come because you wanted to, or just because you wanted an answer? Because I know how much you _love_ getting your nose stuck in a book and getting answers."

"Oh, come on. Don't be like that. Of course I wanted to come," Hermione sighed, falling back down on the couch. "I mean, you're my friend and all. I like you, you know. You're my best friend's brother. It's a law or something that I have to like you. Now, it's your turn. Answer my question."

"Okay, fine. I like you, alright. I did it because I like you. And not because you're my brother's best friend, either, Hermione. I really _like_ you. You're a great person, and even though I don't think you realize that, you're capable of more than what you know," George sighed, his head hanging down. "You always act so upset. I mean, when are you going to get the chance to live a little? No, you've had the chance. When _are_ you going to live a little? Your cancer's gone, Hermione…"

"Not fully. I'm in remission, remember? I won't be out of remission for a little bit longer. But… still… I do live. I do, I mean… more than I used to," Hermione sighed, and she ran a hand through her hair. "Now, about that water…"

George moved his foot… or attempted to. It still wouldn't budge. He looked up at her, and moaned loudly. "God… I told you the truth. I swear on my life. I told you the truth," he said, and he meant it. But not according to the cube. He was lying, according to the cube.

"Shit…" he muttered, and put a hand over his mouth. "Oh, shit…"

"What?" Hermione asked hastily.

"I'm telling the truth… unless…"

"Unless what?" she repeated, looking at the redhead. He frowned, and covered his whole face with both of his hands.

"Unless… unless… well… I love you," he told her, taking his hands down. And that's when he fell forward, onto the floor beneath him. His feet had moved. "I'm literally falling for you."

----------------------------------------

**Author's Note:** Aww, how sweet. I'm sure you're all screaming right now, "FINALLY! FINALLY! WHOO!" I can picture it now… only not really.

But, let me tell you, you are seriously lucky that you got this chapter so soon. I was expecting to finish it much later because of my… uh… interesting week. But, hey, you guys lucked out. So, congrats.

Hmm… how many chapters do I have left? I'd say _at least_ three more. Maybe a couple after that. I still haven't really planned the ending out yet. –blushes- Silly me.

Let's see, what am I forgetting? Oh yeah, this plot belongs to moi, and everything else—excluding Meg—belongs to J.K. Rowling. Because if I owned Harry Potter… well… let's not go there.


	13. Not To Cry

**Chapter Thirteen – Not To Cry**

Hermione stood back up once more, her ears ringing and her head spinning._ I'm literally falling for you_, her head kept telling her. She paced the floor as George nursed his ankle in silence. _Unless I love you_, her head told her this time. Well, more like screamed at her. She placed her fingers to her temples and massaged them gently. _I'm literally falling for you. I love you._ The voice just wouldn't go away. George stared up at her and bit his lip.

"This wasn't supposed to happen!" she yelled, clearly upset at what he had said. "It just wasn't. Nobody was supposed to fall in love with anyone! Oh, George…" She fell back down on the couch, screaming in aggravation. "This wasn't how any of this was supposed to work out. I can't believe this… I've already broken someone's heart. I don't want to do it again, George. But that's what is going to happen. So I might as well tell you this right now."

"Tell me what?" George inquired, standing up and walking towards her. "Listen, Hermione. I'm sorry, alright. I'm sorry I ever invented this stupid cube. I'm sorry that I ever invited you over for dinner—because I can't cook anyways. But you want to know what I'm not sorry for? I'm not sorry that we ever played _Truth or Dare_. I'm not sorry that we ever got stuck in Seven Minutes in Heaven, Hermione." He looked at her, her brown eyes, and she closed her them, turning her head away from him.

"Don't say that, George! Don't even think that!" she told him, and he winced. "George, I am the one who's sorry. I don't know why I ever came back home. We can't be friends anymore, George. In fact, I want us to act as though we never _were_ friends. I mean, were we even? It's better this way. Trust me. Ron already got hurt because he loved me. You'll understand eventually." She smiled, and stood back up. "The water is boiling, by the way."

He turned away, looking into the kitchen. She looked at him one last time before apparating away when he wouldn't see her leave. When she appeared back at Seamus' house, she frowned. He was sitting at the table, rereading _The Daily Prophet_, when he looked up at her. He scratched the back of his head and smiled at her. Although it was more of a sympathetic smile than anything, which she hated.

"It went that well, huh?" he asked, and Hermione left the room. She went into the living room where she slept and sat down on her bed._ Yeah, it went that well_, she thought, as a tear fell down her cheek. Why did everything always happen to _Hermione Granger_? Why not Lavender Brown? Why not Pansy Parkinson? Why did everything happen to Hermione? _Because you're there to have it happen to_.

The worst part of it all was… well… Seamus was right. About everything.

"Fred told me that George didn't show up at work today, Hermione," Ginny said, biting into her salad. She chewed slowly and pointed her fork at the brunette, eyeing her carefully. "Do you happen to know why? Fred said you were with him last night—he also said that when he got him, George was all down. You know, sad? That he went to bed right when he caught Fred's eye. So… do you know what's up with him?"

"Yeah, and how come we didn't t know that you were going over to his house for supper? Huh? And why did he name that cube after you. Personally, I don't like it one bit," Ron snapped, crossing his arms across his chest.

"I don't want to talk about it, you guys. You don't understand," Hermione sighed, mixing her soup with her spoon. "You wouldn't understand if I told you both. Can't we just eat lunch without talking about me? Let's talk about you. What have you been doing while I've been off buying houses and just hanging around? Anything fun?" She smiled at them—even if she didn't feel the smile throughout her body.

"Well, Ron and I have gone here to lunch everyday since you came back," Ginny said, gesturing around. "Okay, so it's our _house_. But still. At least _he's_ been eating." She punched Ron in the arm, and giggled. "And we went to Hogsmeade once—_The Three Broomsticks_ never had better butterbeer. I don't remember it tasting so good! Maybe it's because I haven't had it in a few years. I dunno. What do you think, Ron?"

"Are you sleeping with him? Are you buying that house for you and George?" he asked Hermione, and Ginny gasped.

"Ron!" she exclaimed, covering her mouth. Hermione frowned, looking at him. Why in the world would he have though of that? Ha. That was a good one. Ginny apparently did not think so. "You don't just _ask_ people that. And especially Hermione! God, I am so sorry. Oh my goodness, I cannot believe you just asked that, Ron. You are way too overprotective… and way too forward I _can't_ believe you asked that."

"I'm not overprotective. I just don't like what's going on. He named the cube after her, Ginny," Ron retorted, and Ginny glared at him. "He's been with her more than we have. He asked her to have dinner with her last night. And guess what. After she had left, he became all depressed. Fred came home, and then George went to bed because he was upset about something. He didn't show up to work today—and look at her! Look at Hermione!"

He pointed towards the bushy haired girl, and Ginny turned to look at her. "I think she's thinner now then she was when she first got here. She's paler, Ginny. George is the one who told us, not her. He wrote to Mum this morning, remember? You know what's going on," Ron said, and Hermione cocked an eyebrow.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, and Ginny frowned, breaking eye contact with her. "I'm not… sleeping with George. In fact, I shudder to even think about him."

"No, Hermione. You have cancer. I know, Mum told us not to say anything to her," Ginny added angrily to Ron. Hermione dropped her soup spoon with a clatter, and stared at the two redheads. Ginny continued, "Hermione, why didn't you tell us? George mailed Mum this morning, telling her that you told him that you had cancer. That it was the reason you left us for two years. But he said it was all one, and that you were okay now. You _are_ okay now, aren't you?"

"Of course not. Can't you see why George is all depressed? Because she's still got it," Ron said, and Hermione frowned, looking him up and down. His ears were red, but his lip was quivering… as if he was sad or something. "Hermione, you look sick. Well, you are sick—not to state the obvious—but… have you looked in the mirror? Have you gone back to a doctor? You don't look healthy."

"I'm fine," Hermione snapped, running a hand through her hair. "But don't you see? This is exactly why I changed—why I left here without telling anyone. I knew you would all go insane on me. I knew that you'd all be upset, and I knew that you would attempt to give me sympathy. But, you know what? I don't need it." She sighed heavily, spinning her soup spoon on the table. "And I can't believe George told you. I told him not to. He was never supposed to know in the first place. It was that stupid _Truth or Dare_ cube. You can't leave the sight of the other person unless you tell the truth. So, I had to. But none of you were ever supposed to know. I was supposed to go on with my normal life… normally."

"That's what Mum said. She said you probably didn't want us to know. Not that she was okay with it. She kind of just told us to bug off and not tell you that we knew. George had said that you didn't want anyone to know, but he had to tell you. But after Mum told us what the letter said, she walked right out of the room. She was really upset. She looked like she was going to cry… and I felt like I was going to cry," Ginny, frowning. Hermione looked around. Mrs. Weasley was no where around. Usually—at least it seemed—she was in the kitchen. And yet, she wasn't there.

"If I had told you before I left, you probably would have made me go to St. Mungos. Or if you decided to let me go, _someone_ would have followed me. Probably you, Ron, since you were the one who was in love with me, after all," she explained, continuing with her story. "No one has a cure for cancer. If St. Mungos could cure it, I would have gone there. But they don't, so I didn't. Listen, I know all of you know now, and I guess that your mum is really upset that I didn't tell her. And if I _had_ died, I guess you wouldn't have ever found out. But I suppose, in a way, that's better. I also believe that I've had this conversation with George, I think. I'd rather not have it again, if you don't mind."

"I'm sorry I brought it up, Hermione. But you have _cancer_. You think you're cured, don't you? George wrote that you said you were in _remission_ or something, but you could have a relapse. Hermione, it's not fair," Ron muttered sadly, and Hermione picked up her spoon again.

"I'm fine. I'm not going to have a relapse," she answered sternly, laughing nervously afterward. "You want to know something? You and George are exactly the same. You're both really overprotective. He was upset over this, my relationship with Seamus Finnegan. You're upset with this and my relationship with him—not hat there is one. Now, can we just eat our lunch? Please?"

"But you're not okay," Ron murmured to himself. He wiped his eyes quickly and looked at his sister. "Ginny… Mum told us not to cry."

Hermione pulled out her toothbrush from her cosmetics bag, putting it under the water. _Well, today was horrible, last night was horrible. I'm guessing that tomorrow will be horrible—when I go yell at George for spilling my secret. And I'm guessing the next day after that will be horrible, and the day after that. God, I sound like such a pessimist. I can't believe George told… and Ginny started crying. Oh God, what have I done?_

She put her toothpaste on the toothbrush and sighed. _Maybe I do look worse—and I had thought that I'd started to get better. I started getting color, and flesh. _She placed the toothbrush in her mouth and started to swish around her mouth. _Damn, look at my legs. They're like sticks. _She pulled up her pajama pants and examined her legs. She pulled up her shirt and examined her chest, her ribs. _I look like train tracks. God, maybe Ron was right. But I'm fine. I may look sick, but I'm fine_.

She spit into the sink, a strange taste in her mouth. Strange, yes, but familiar. It didn't taste like her toothpaste—cinnamon and mint—but it tasty salty. Kind of like sweat. You know the taste: wet, salty, and sticky. But it wasn't sweat. She wasn't sweaty on the outside… and why would she be sweating in her mouth?

It wasn't until she looked in the sink that she found out what it was. _Blood_. She bent her lip down and looked at her teeth. They were blood stained. She would have to rinse her mouth out with mouth wash, or brush her teeth again. No problem. That wasn't what was bugging her now. Oh no. Not at all.

It's just that… Mrs. Weasley told her family not to cry. Well… did that include Hermione?

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**Author's Note:**I am SO, SO sorry that I took so long on this chapter! It's not even that long! I apologize. I swear, I've never procrastinated so much in my life. Okay, well, maybe I have. But not on something that I planned—_plan_—on finishing. I mean it. I am really very sorry.

But moving on. I'm not very proud of this chapter, either. So basically, I'm extremely upset at myself for taking so long on the chapter, making it so short, and not being proud of it. Oh well. As long as you all like it. And if you don't, I always appreciate constructive criticism.

Again, I am very sorry!


	14. Insanity

**Chapter Fourteen – Insanity**

"Seamus, I, uh, have to go out somewhere," Hermione sighed. She had spent some time in the bathroom just brushing her teeth clean, and drying her eyes. It probably would not be able to fool Seamus though. Her nose was a nice shade of pink, and her eyes were watery and red. She looked as if, in fact, she had just spent ten or fifteen minutes in the bathroom crying. Either that, or she had suddenly received a cold, and she was blowing her nose for ten or fifteen minutes. However, in any case, she knew that he would look at her and know something was the matter. "It's, uh, a bit of an emergency. I don't know when I'll be back, so don't wait up with supper or anything."

"Okay," Seamus replied, looking up from the newspaper that he was reading in his favorite—his only—recliner chair. He raised an eyebrow when he saw her face, her red puffy cheeks and eyes, and her nose worthy of being dubbed Rudolph, with a look of sympathetic concern on his face. "What's going on? Did someone die? Oh, don't tell me it's one of your friends? Or is someone sick? Because you look as though you've been crying for a while. And you're not normally one to cry, are you?" He frowned at her, and she shook her head.

_Someone isn't dead. But someone is _dying._ And someone is definitely ill_, Hermione thought with a sick smile plastered onto her face for a moment. She laughed, a sick laugh that matched her smile, and shook her head once more. "No. None of my _friends_ are dead, and none of _them_ are ill. Yes, I was crying, but it wasn't because of that. I was bleeding. And I don't like blood, so I was upset and started crying," she said. And all of that was the truth. It wasn't the whole truth, but no one could accuse her of lying—since she wasn't. Technically speaking, of course.

"What's the emergency, then?" Seamus asked, folding his newspaper up and peering at her with wide eyes. He looked honestly concerned. But that question was a problem. Hermione usually never resorted to lying. Maybe she could weasel out of this with out actually lying. Yes. Maybe she could tell him where she really was going, and he wouldn't ask anymore questions. But that was unlikely. Seamus was always apprehensive where Hermione was concerned. At least he was now. Why else would he be asking all of these questions now?

"I'm going to the hospital. I'm going to see someone," she answered smugly, hoping that the smug sound of her voice did not show up on her face. Once again, she had done it. She had told the truth without telling all of it. Maybe it was a talent or something. She was indeed going to go to the hospital. To see a Healer—at St. Mungos, this time. Of course, she planned on making a few pit stops along the way there. Now that _it _was out in the open, she might as well bring everyone up to date on what she thought was going on with her body. Of course, there wouldn't be any promises that what she thought was happening really was.

"Okay. Give my regards to whoever you're visiting," Seamus shrugged, and Hermione smiled, nodding. She couldn't believed that it had actually worked. She _was_ talented. "Oh, and tell whoever you're visiting that I say hi. Well, if I know them." Hermione rolled her eyes, but nodded. Of course. She'd tell the _Healer_ that Seamus Finnegan says hello as she's trying to explain her situation to them. That would get a laugh. _This girl with cancer came in and told me that some man said hello to me. The name doesn't even sound familiar. And she just came right out and said that this man said hi._

She apparated, and appeared outside of her oh-so-favorite person's house. Well, at this point in time. She rang the doorbell and waited, licking her teeth nervously. They tasted like cinnamon, after all the time she spent brushing them. Better that then the salty tasting blood. She had never liked the taste of blood—nor did she like the look of blood. But after being exposed enough to it—wars, treatments, etc.—she had gotten used to the red bodily liquid.

The door opened a crack, and one of the twins looked out at the brunette. "Hermione," Fred said quietly, and opened the door all of the way. "Come in, come in. What are you doing here? George is in his room, if you're looking for him. You know where it is, don't you? And, uh, how are you feeling? George told me—well… everyone—that you have…uh, cancer. He said that's why you had originally left."

Hermione smiled, pushing past him into the house. "I'm… feeling, uh… peachy. Unfortunately, I don't remember where George's room is, so if you could just lead the way?" she asked, pulling lightly on her sleeves. "Thank you for asking, by the way. I didn't think you would. Because… well, you're Fred Weasley. You're never _serious_. So, thank you."

"You're welcome," Fred replied, and starting walking towards the hallway. It wasn't long until he stopped in front of a door and gestured towards it. "I'll be around if you need me. Meg's here too, so you can call her if you need anything. She won't mind. She likes you." He chuckled and turned around to leave. "I'll have to warn you though… I think George is a little, um, upset. At you. Whatever you did the other day really killed him. He's not even funny anymore. I have to think of new inventions, new items that the customers would like, all by myself. So, I think you might try a little bit to be able to talk."

"Oh," Hermione sighed. "All right then. Thanks. Oh, and you won't mind if I borrowed him for a little bit, once I get him talking? I don't know how long I'll be, but he'll most likely be back tonight." Fred cocked an eyebrow, more amused than anything—she didn't even want to know what he was thinking at that moment—and shrugged. She took that as a _No, I don't mind_, and knocked on George's door. No answer. So, she opened the door. Well, usually most people wait for an answer before barging in, especially when you are not related to that person. But she wasn't about to wait for him to crawl out of his shell.

"George, I need to talk to you," she said, coming into the room. George sat on his bed, just lying there, looking at the ceiling. At least, he was until Hermione entered his bedroom. He stared at her, sitting up quickly as soon as it processed in his brain that it was Hermione Granger in his bedroom. At least he was fully clothed. But he didn't say anything. He just stared at her as if she had ten heads, all repeating the Table of Elements.

"I can't believe that you told everyone that I have cancer. I _cannot_ believe you did that. I went over to the Burrow for lunch today, and guess what? Ginny started crying. _Ron_ almost started crying. I had to leave because I felt so bad that I had made them cry, George," she said angrily, and he continued to just stare at her. "Listen, I'm sorry about the other day. Alright? I'm sorry. But that gave you no right to go and tell everyone about me. I kept it a secret for so long, and then you had to go and tell everyone because I said that we couldn't be friends anymore. But I decided to let you off, and tell you something that I haven't told anyone else yet. I think I might be having a relapse. My gums were bleeding, and I'm even… sicklier than before. And I'm only calm because I already spent a while crying. But I'm going to go—"

"Wait, what?" George sputtered, jumping up off of the bed. He walked towards Hermione and stared down at her, his expression turned dark. "Hermione, you're not serious. You're joking. You're trying to get back at me for telling my family that you have cancer. You're just joking." He laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. He looked away from her for a moment, shaking his head.

"George. I'm not joking," Hermione replied, seriously. "Now, if you'll let me continue. I'm going to St. Mungos right now to go ask a Healer to, uh, check me out. But I didn't want to go alone. I wouldn't be able to handle it, I think. The first time was difficult. So, would you like to go with me to keep me company? As friends? I would really appreciate it. Besides… I was sorry that I told you that we couldn't be friends too."

"I would say that I'd like that, but I don't think that is exactly appropriate to say in a situation such as this," George said, but he couldn't help trying to hide his grin. Hermione smiled at this, and shook her head.

"You're hopeless. Come on," she said, and held out her hand. George hesitantly took it, and they apparated to St. Mungos.

"So, you're saying that you went to a hospital up in Wales to have your first treatment?" the Healer, a tall man with dark brown hair and a large mustache, asked Hermione. She crossed her arms and nodded in away that said, _Duh, that's what I told you_. He was an older man, probably in his fifties or sixties. No wonder he had to repeat everything she told him. "Okay, and you originally loved here, in London, when you first found out that you had cancer, but you went to a muggle hospital, not here? But you're coming here now because you think that you had a relapse, and you don't want to go to a muggle hospital?"

"Give the man a prize," Hermione muttered under her breath, loud enough for George, who was standing directly in back of her, to hear. He chuckled, and the Healer looked at him as if he needed a check out to, since nothing he said was all that funny. You could just tell by the look on his face that he thought George was a lunatic of sorts. "Yes, that's correct, sir." Again, under her breath, she added, "It's only the third time I told you that."

"We'll see if we can get you a room, and if we can get any Healer to attempt to remove the cancer with a potion. We usually don't get that many cancer patients, so the potions are in low supply. Otherwise, if we don't have time to make a potion, you may have to go back to the muggle hospital. I will contact the other Healers and see if they have any potions in stock. Basically, the potion slows down the cancer without affecting your body. But it can sometimes work the other way if the potion is made too quickly. It can worsen the disease. So, if we do not have any potions, that may be why you want to go to a muggle hospital instead. The potion takes awhile to make," the Healer said, and Hermione sighed, walking away to sit down in one of the chairs near the receptionist desk. The Healer walked away in the opposite direction, scratching his head as he looked at George one last time as the redhead sat down next to Hermione.

"That guy was incredibly dumb. I think I told him the same story three times, and he had to repeat it to me to make sure that he got the whole story correct. And he definitely thought you were a nutcase. I could tell that he wanted to send you up to that Healer that helped Lockhart. You laughed at my, uh, joke, and he thought you were laughing at something he said," Hermione laughed, and George smiled.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time someone wanted to get me checked out. I'm pretty sure Mum wanted to send Fred and me to a Healer," he told her, and she sighed. Mrs. Weasley. She had forgotten about her. If Mrs. Weasley found out that she was hear, she would go crazy. Not because she was mad. No. Because Hermione was sick.

"I'm pretty sure there was a time that I thought the exact same thing. I just can't remember. I only remember the past few weeks. The good times we've had," she said. "You know… this is why I told you we couldn't be friends. I didn't want to have a relapse. I didn't want to end up dying, and then you'd be… depressed. You were never supposed to fall in love with me, either. For the same reasons, I guess. Bad things happen when you fall in love with someone who is bound to die in a few months."

"You're not going to die," George said. He sounded so sure. Hermione smirked.

"Of course I'm not," she sneered, sounding as if she had simply forgotten a true statement. She shook her head, her thin hair flying as she did so. "Not that it would matter much. I'm kind of used to the fact now that I'm weaker than ever before, and I'm going completely insane."

"Why are you going insane?" George questioned, looking entirely confused.

"Because—"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," the Healer said. He had returned with a clipboard in his hand, and he looked distraught. "But I'm sad to inform you that we do not have any potions in stock as of now. We recommend that you go to visit the muggle hospital. They will surely accommodate you." He nodded to them both, and started to walk away.

"Seamus says hi!" Hermione called after him, and he looked back at her. Yep, they were both crazy.

"Well, that stinks. We'll go to the muggle hospital, they will test you to see if you had a relapse, and if necessary we will go to Wales and get you that new treatment," George decided, and Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"_We_ will go to Wales?" Hermione asked.

"Well, sure. You said that the first time when you went alone it was difficult. So, why can't I go with you? Besides, I've never been to Wales. Fred can handle the shop with Meg, and I will go with you to Wales. I know I won't be able to be in the room with you all the time, but I can try to stay in the room with you for as long as I can," he shrugged. "Now what were you saying about being completely insane?"

Hermione stared at him for a second. But then, she did something that she would have regretted doing if it hadn't been George. She kissed him. In public, in the middle of St. Mungos' lobby, on the lips. She, even though she wasn't that much shorter than George, had to stand on her toes. She pulled away, blushing for a second before saying with a smile, "That's why I'm completely insane. And that's why I said we couldn't be friends."

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**Author's Note:** Hallelujah! It's a miracle! Wow. It took fourteen chapters, but she finally did it. Bwah ha ha! I am very proud of this chapter! And I updated so quickly! So now, you can't bug me about not updating fast enough. Because I was fast. But I really do like this chapter. I hope you do too!

Happy reading!


	15. Hopeless Goodbye

**Chapter Fifteen – Hopeless Goodbye **

George looked so happy. His eyes suddenly gleamed as though he hadn't heard good news in years. He hadn't, really. The happiest news that he had heard in the past two years was probably tat Hermione was back. And, technically speaking, he had saw, not heard. Fred had met her first, and called out to George, who had looked as though he hadn't slept in ages. And he had complimented her—he said she was pretty. Unfortunately, Hermione had to take away the majority of that happiness—just like she had two years ago when she left. And she was about to do it again.

"You can't come to Wales with me," Hermione told him softly, the smile knocked off her face. "I'm sorry. I truly am." He gave her a quizzical look and slowly took her hand. She looked down at this and sighed, running her free hand through her hair. "George. I have feeling for you, as I just expressed. You have feelings for me too. If I die, what do you think will happen? You'll end up jumping off the closest bridge and kill yourself, wouldn't you? And then no one would know if you and I were dead. They'd think we had eloped or something like that."

George laughed, kissing her once on the lips as she rolled her eyes. "Excuse me," she growled, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "Do you find something comical about all of this? Because I _really_ don't think that this is funny, at all. This is a very serious matter. There is nothing funny about jumping off bridges in the middle of Wales, thank you very much. So, therefore, you have to stay here so you are unable to figure out if I died or not. Well, obviously if I come back then I'm alive, but still. You have no idea how long they could keep me."

"You're not going to die," George said, very matter-of-factly. Hermione didn't reply. George had sounded so convinced when he said that. If only it were that simple. Life would be so much easier. No disease, no wars. All you'd have to do is be convinced that something will or will not happen, and it would or would not. Hermione had heard that having hope did a lot for cancer. People would heal faster, and better. It was too bad that she had lost it all the first time she heard that she had cancer. But George… he had hope for her. She would have to feed off him for the next few months as she struggles to get better.

She sighed and looked back up at George. "It looked like we're going to Wales," she muttered sadly, and he kissed her again. She hit him on the arm and stared at him. "Okay, but you have to make a deal with me. Since you so obviously like kissing me, and since you have an excuse to do it now, I'm setting this rule down. You can't kiss me every ten seconds, as much as you want to. Resist the urge. Work on every ten _minutes_. Okay? Now, come on. Let's get out of this place." She shuddered, looking around at the people around her. "We have a flight to book anyways. We're aiming for leaving tomorrow, so we have to pack an say goodbye to everyone too."

"We're leaving at five o'clock tomorrow morning. Well, that's what time the plane is leaving. We're actually leaving at about… oh, two o'clock to be on the safe side. And, let me tell you, it is absolutely impossible to find flights that are leaving the next day. Hence why we are leaving at such an early time. Nobody books five o'clock flights, I found. I tried looking for other ones!" she added as George moaned, falling on top of their packed suitcases. Thank God for magic. "Oh, get up. You're going to wrinkle my clothes. I don't care if you wrinkle yours, but I'm not walking around Wales with wrinkled clothes."

"Why not?" George asked, opening Hermione's suitcase and holding up a sweater. "Is this wrinkled? Because it'd look fine on you. Why are women so obsessed with clothes and whether they're wrinkled or not? It's disgusting. I mean, they're always freaking out over clothes, even though they look good in whatever they wear." He looked at Hermione with a very matter-of-factly face. "So, why do wrinkles matter?"

Hermione gaped at him, taking the sweater away form him and folding it back up before placing it back in her suitcase. "I can _not _believe that you just asked that. You can't wear wrinkled articles of clothing. It just isn't right." She zipped her suitcase back up and stared at George. "I can't believe that you asked that. Don't talk to me." George smirked, a sly look creeping onto his face. He grabbed her waist and sat her on top of her own suitcase. "Hey! Hey! My clothes are going to be _so_ wrinkled. And it will be entirely your fault."

She jumped off her suitcase, and unzipped it again, examining her clothes. "They're fine… for now. If you pull a fast one like that again, we'll have to raise your time to thirty minutes," she said, winking at him. He made a scared face and picked up his suitcase. "I printed out the tickets—I'm shocked that you have a computer, by the way. They're—there." She walked over to the printer and picked up the two tickets. "Are we saying goodbye to your family now? Then I'll go back to Seamus' house, sleep, and I'll meet you at two o'clock outside of the airport. And you're not going to be late, because if you are, then I'm going in without you. Unlike you, I know how to, uh, use an airport. So, don't be late."

"Uh, speaking of that, why don't we just apparate to the hospital in Wales that you went to before?" George asked, and Hermione laughed.

"I may have been in that hospital for a long time, but I don't remember what it looks like. I mean, I know what my old room looked like—it was the only room I really saw—but they probably gave it away to another patient once I left. We can't just apparate into that room. Especially since most of the patients are mug—ow," Hermione exclaimed, holding up her finger. "I pinched my finger in the zipper while I was zipping it up." She examined it, smiled lightly. Blood was dripping from it down her hand. "More symptoms. Normal people don't get cuts so easily. My cancer is probably getting worse and worse." She pulled her wand out of her pocket and pointed at the cut, healing it slowly.

"Normal people? You're normal. How are you different from anyone else because you have cancer?" George asked, putting his suitcase back down and touching her finger where she had just healed it. Hermione laughed at him, pulling her hand away. "Don't laugh. I'm serious right now. Just because you're sick doesn't make you different than everyone else. Well, you are different, but I mean that you're still normal. Being sick doesn't throw you out of the loop. It's a medical disease, not a social disease."

"Okay, okay. I didn't mean to make you upset, Mr. Serious. God, maybe I shouldn't have come back. You're way too serious for your own good now. I've rubbed off on you," Hermione said, turning her back on him. "Do you want to leave the suitcases here, and you can bring them tomorrow? I don't think I could carry mine. Having a disease make you weak, you know? Not that I was strong to begin with. You can bring them—and you better be there since I'm trusting you with my clothes, and shampoo, and medicine."

"I'll be there. Don't worry. And if I'm late, I'll be fashionably late, so you'll be able to point me out. Wait, I have red hair. Why wouldn't you be able to point me out?" he joked, and Hermione smirked. "Are we going to visit my family some time this decade, or are we just going to stand here and wait for an invite?"

"Ladies first, then," she said, and vanished. George apparated after her, rolling his eyes.

Hermione knocked on the door of the Burrow three times. It was a few moments before Ginny Weasley opened to door. The youngest Weasley eyed the two before smiling and opening the door wider. "Come on in, you two. Should I be questioning why you two are together, or shouldn't I?" she asked, and Hermione laughed.

"You shouldn't. Trust me. It would be way too confusing. Our story is like an enigma," she told her. Ginny cocked an eyebrow, crossing her arms across her chest as Hermione and George slid inside.

"What, are you reading a script or something? No one says that. _Our story is like an enigma. My life is like a mysterious blur of events that never seem to cease_," Ginny said as dramatically as possible. Hermione laughed, and George chuckled at this. "_Emotions are like an endless abyss of nothingness. They seem to be there, but they are really covering up our true selves. Make-up is worthless crap that should be burned in the center of hell_. Nobody actually says that! Because if they did, I would be worried. Especially if they said the last thing. I would have to give them a makeover, and I'm not exactly sure if they'd want that."

"Aw, sure they would," Hermione sighed. "I'm not sure if I would, since I might look like a clown with that much make-up on, but still. Somebody out there wants you to give them a makeover, I'm sure. You look excellent with an excessive amount of make-up, unlike me."

"Well, I wouldn't look good with make-up at all," George added, and Ginny looked at him.

"No, I disagree. You'd look a lot better," Ginny argued, giggling. Hermione chuckled, tilting her head as she examined George's face.

"I thought we were here to say goodbye," George said, his face turning red. Ginny looked at him, and then at Hermione. She ran a hand through her hair and smiled calmly.

"Goodbye? You guys are leaving? What, are you guys getting married or something?" she asked, laughing nervously. George and Hermione exchanged glances, rolling their eyes. "Why are you guys saying goodbye?"

Hermione took Ginny's hand and walked into the living room. "George, will you go get Ron and your mother?" she asked. He nodded, and disappeared for a few moments time. Hermione sat on the couch next to Ginny, smiling lightly. "We're not getting married, thank you very much. I'll tell you when Ron and Molly get down here, so they can hear too." Ginny frowned, leaning her head on her hands. "George… he's changed. And I kind of wish sometimes that he hadn't. Maybe this whole cancer thing wouldn't be so difficult."

Ginny nodded as Ron and Mrs. Weasley walked into the room. "Hermione, dear… what's going on?" she asked. Ron sat down on the other side of Hermione, and looked at George as he came in. "Is something the matter?"

"Um, actually… kind of," Hermione said, looking from Ron to Ginny to Mrs. Weasley to George. "I had a relapse. I went to St. Mungo's with George, and they said that they didn't have anything to help me at the present time. So, we're both going to go back to Wales. George is going to discuss everything with Fred, and I'm going to spend the night at Seamus' house again, and we're leaving tomorrow morning at five. I know that it is short notice, but I want to get out there as soon as possible. The sooner the better."

"A relapse?" Ron repeated, grabbing Hermione's hand. "I knew it. I told you, Hermione. I told you that you were still sick."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I got cancer, but I can't stop it. I'm leaving tomorrow, and I'll be back before you know it," Hermione sighed. "But I need your help too. I've kind of lost a lot of my hope that I will get better, and hope goes a long way with cancer, I've heard. So, I need you guys to hope for me… and if I don't come back, I love you guys," Hermione said, wiping her eyes and hugging Ron and Ginny.

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**Author's Note:** Wow, I took forever! Sorry! I totally made fun comments about my friend in this. I won't tell you, but if you are the friend who I talked about… trust me. You'll know. He he.

But sorry I took so long! But, I finished this chapter, didn't I? I don't know when I'll have the next chapter up. I'm very busy this week with tests and stuff, so it may take awhile. But probably not as long as this one.

Chapter sixteen coming soon!


	16. Be Fine

**Chapter Sixteen – Be Fine**

Ron and Ginny pulled away from Hermione and looked at each other. There was absolutely no way that Hermione was not going to make it through. She had to live. She survived the war, had she not? She had survived while Harry died. Why—how—could a disease take her life away? They had hope for her. But was it enough to cure her disease? They were not sure. A part of them all—even Mrs. Weasley and George—believed that she would not make it, while the other half of them yelled, "Of course she'll survive!" But they weren't believing that half of themselves, as much as they lied to themselves that they did. Maybe eventually they'd believe the lie.

Mrs. Weasley walked towards Hermione, taking her turn to hug her gently. She barely touched her, afraid that she would break the sick girl. She patted the once bushy hair lightly, sighing. "Oh, everything will be fine. You've made it through so far. We have hope for you," she said, smiling hopefully. Hermione looked at the motherly face and nodded, smiling back. "Now, you go get ready for your trip. Maybe we'll come up and visit you for a little bit while you're there."

Hermione's smile quickly vanished, and she looked away. "You don't want to see me while I'm there. It will just make everything worse. When I'm in the hospital I look worse than ever. I can't wear make-up, the bags below my eyes are huge, and I get really pale. Trust me, I look worse than death when I'm in the hospital. You shouldn't come," Hermione explained. Ron and Ginny touched her arm, and she looked at them. "I'm serious, you guys. I have never been more serious in my life. You wouldn't want to see me like that."

"Then why is George coming with you?" Ron asked, looking at his older brother. George looked at him. Hermione had almost forgotten he was there; he was so quiet. She stood up and walked towards him, enlacing her fingers with his as he reached out his hand. She stood beside him, looking back at the remainder of the people in the room. Ron looked back gravely, and Ginny was frowning. Mrs. Weasley was frowning too, more disappointed at Ron than Hermione.

Hermione knew why she was going to bring him. She loved him. It was true. But she wasn't about to tell Ronald Weasley, the boy she had thought she loved while she was in school. The boy who still loved her. She wasn't going to tell them that. Not to mention, Mrs. Weasley would probably have a heart attack upon hearing that. And Ginny—well—Ginny would just think that it was romantic. She would not really think on it. Hermione would've told Ginny if it had been only her, and no one else. But unfortunately, the whole family, or those who were still alive besides Charlie, was there. So, she had to use her other reason behind bringing George.

"He was the first person who knew," Hermione shrugged. "And he was the first person to care about how I felt when I first got here. I mean, I didn't think that it was a great idea either. I think he's my barometer of hope right now, and I need that. So, if any one makes a big deal of this, then go ahead. But he is coming with me, no matter what anyone says. It is not fair if you take this away from me." George looked at her, and she smiled. "Just give this a chance. Let him be my barometer of hope, and let him help me get better."

"We are, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley told her. "Go to Wales and get better, dear. Good luck." Hermione let go of George's hand and skipped towards Mrs. Weasley, embracing her in a hug. Mrs. Weasley patted her head lightly and rubbed her back with her other hand. "Oh, Hermione. I wish you had told us before. But if you thought it was for good, then I'm proud of you. You have made the greatest decisions in life."

Ginny took her turn wrapping her arms around Hermione. "We know you're going to make it out of this alright. You survived the war, you survived school, and you survived one round of cancer. Heck, you've survived Draco Malfoy's taunting!" Hermione giggled lightly. "You're not going anywhere, Herms. We are going to see you again, standing right in this spot, in just a little while. Good luck," Ginny told her friend. Hermione nodded, her eyes beginning to water.

Ginny stepped away, and Ron walked towards her. Hermione looked at him, her cheeks turning red. "I second what Ginny said. Good luck, Hermione," he said quietly. She nodded, smiling at him. "Hermione… I love you. We all love you so much." He wrapped his arms around her, and she hugged him back. It was at this point that she began to cry. The tears poured down her cheeks at a constant rate. She wanted to tell them that she loved them too, but she could not choke out the words. She looked at the once large family, letting go of Ron, and smiled. She wiped her tears, and looked at George, nodding. Without another word, and without telling them that she loved them, she disapparated.

"What did Fred say when you told him? Did he freak out on you, or was he okay with it?" Hermione asked, running a hand through her hair. A man behind her coughed. She didn't like planes. She wasn't really a fan of flying, and needed something to keep her mind off the fact that she would be over ten thousand feet in the air. Talking would work. Talking was an easy way to get her mind off the idea of being in an airplane. Take-off was scary enough. Now she had to worry about not crashing.

"Well… at first, before I had finished my first sentence, he was kind of worried. I mean, I hadn't even finished my first sentence. I had said, 'Hermione and I are going to Wales because,' and that was it!" he exclaimed, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "He thought you and I were getting married or eloping or something. He was saying stuff like, 'Meg and I have been going out for awhile and we haven't considered marriage,' and 'I've always thought I'd get married first'. Personally, I found that rather insulting."

"Well, when you start a sentence like that, people tend to assume things that aren't true," Hermione said, rolling her eyes again. "He gave you a chance to talk, didn't he?" The man behind her coughed loudly again, and she winced. She looked behind her before turning back to George again. He didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah. Then I told him that we were going because you had a relapse. Then he was calm for a minute before realizing what it meant. Then I told him to watch the shop with Meg, and I left," George concluded. Hermione stared at him. The man coughed again behind her, but this time she did not turn. She simply stared at the redheaded man next to her.

"That's it? You just said that, and you left? You didn't even say that you'd miss him, or anything? You didn't say to have fun running the shop without you? You just said, 'You're running the shop. Bye'?" Hermione asked. George thought about it for a minute, and shrugged. "You're such a horrible brother! And to think that Fred is your twin. You are so horrible. I think that I should've fallen for the other twin instead of you."

"Well, I didn't say it in so many words," George said. "Actually… no, I said it in more words. I was nice. I told him to take excellent care of the shop, and to make sure that Meg didn't get out of hand. We all know how talkative she can be. I know better than you do. Fred knows even better than I do. I feel for him. I'm an excellent brother, thank you very much." Hermione shook her head, rolling her eyes simultaneously. The man behind her sneezed.

"Okay, that's it. I'm sorry, George, but I can't sit here. I know I shouldn't freak out when someone is sick, since I'm sicker than everyone else on this plane, but I'm going insane. I need to switch seats. Air is circulated in a plane, making it one of the unhealthiest places ever. I definitely can't have this. Oh, it doesn't even matter where I sit since the air is being circulated. How much longer is this flight?" Hermione asked, and George shrugged.

"Why is it a problem?" he asked, and Hermione laughed. It was a sarcastic laugh, the type you hear when someone asks a stupid question. True, she didn't really expect George to be well read in the subject of health, but it would have helped. She looked at him and shook her head.

"It is a problem because if I get sick, that worsens my cancer. If I get a cold, I could very well die. My immune system can't fight off the germs in my body. I don't know. I'm just worried about this whole thing. I mean, I was scared the first time. I'm even more afraid the second time," Hermione sighed. "I'm overreacting, I know. I know I shouldn't be upset right now, but I'm scared. I am so scared."

"We can move if you're that afraid, Hermione," George said gently, looking at her. She shook her head, and smiled lightly.

"No, don't bother. We're almost there. This is a really short flight. And I'm not even sure that there are any free seats. Besides, it's not as if I can get sick over night. When I get to the hospital, I am pretty much confined to my room. I can't really move when I have all the medicine inside of me. I'm too weak. I'll be fine," Hermione assured him. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "I'll be fine."

The airport was large. The floor was carpeted at the gates, but the floor was tiled everywhere else. There were restaurants along the walls in between gates; small ones that were crowded. It looked faintly familiar to Hermione. She barely remembered if she had been here. She walked forwards onto the tile and looked back at George. He walked lamely towards her, running a hand through his hair.

"I've never been to an airport. I've never been on a plane. I've never walked after getting off a plane," he told her. She laughed at him, starting towards the bag claim. "I mean, the plane part was neat. I liked going up in the air and the landing. I prefer brooms, though. But getting off of that plane. That was… that was weird. I never feel like that. My legs felt like Jell-O. My legs feel okay now, but that first step was really very weird."

"Yes, well… I prefer planes over brooms. Sometimes. Today I probably would have rather flown on a broom than on a plane, but it doesn't matter. We need to get our bags. Hospital, here I come," she said sarcastically, sighing loudly. This was just the beginning.

Hermione would go to the hospital and check in as soon as she left the airport. They would get her to her room, possibly make George leave her while they ran a few tests. She would have to take medicine—not chemo again. They would give her some other medicine. She would become very weak. Weaker than last time when she was on the chemotherapy. George wouldn't be able to visit her when she was that weak. Maybe when she was on her deathbed he could see her… maybe he would get the rest of the family to come.

"I'll be fine," she whispered to herself.

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**Author's Note:** I HATE THIS CHAPTER! Argh! I am so sorry, you guys. Not only have I taken a bazillion weeks to write this chapter, but it also sucks really bad. It's short, it's boring. But you know what? The next chapter is going to be really good, I promise. A lot of stuff is going to happen next chapter. I mean, like, a lot of stuff. You'll probably all hate me for how much stuff is going to happen in the next chapter. But I can't say anymore because then I'll be giving the whole chapter away!

So, yeah. The next chapter shouldn't take as long to be put up, and it will be better. Yeah. I really think you will all like the next chapter. Have fun, and happy reading!


	17. Blood and Pain

**Chapter Seventeen – Blood and Pain**

"God, I hate the hospital," Hermione told George. She was wearing the old hospital robes, lying on her gurney. "I've been here a day, and I'm already on medications. And I already feel like a load of shit. Pardon my language, please. Do I sound congested? I wonder if that's normal. I don't remember being congested before, but then again I'm on other medications. My nose got really stuffy over night. Can you hand me a tissue?" She pointed over to the windowsill. Lucky for her, she had gotten her own room, and own tissue box.

"Just put it on the table right there," she said, patting the little metal table beside her gurney. George walked over to the window and picked up the box, carrying it back to the table. Hermione pulled a tissue out—it was one of those hard, thin tissues that were hard on your nose—and blew. She sighed, throwing it in the trashcan beneath the table. "Bloody nose. I don't mean bloody nose, I mean _bloody_ nose." She blew into another tissue and showed George the red stuff that came out onto it. "Great. This is not going to stop for a while, and I am not going to mix magic with muggle treatments. Will you go get the doctor for me?"

George sped out of the room. It was a few moments before he came back with a doctor. He was older, his hair grey, and face wrinkled. Hermione smiled at him, as the doctor examined her. "Have you been congested for a long while?" the doctor asked. Hermione shook her head. "Alright. We have some medicine that will slow down the blood flow, and it will eventually stop. For now, just let it flow out. I will be back to check on you in a moment. Mr. Weasley, if you can let Miss Granger rest for a while, that would be much appreciated. You may visit again later. I'll go get the medicine… if you can leave before I return?"

The doctor walked out of the room. George smiled at Hermione, and she smiled back. "I'm really sorry, George. I am so sorry. This must be horrible for you. You're doing so much for me, and I can't really do anything for you. I can't get out of bed to get my own tissues. I can't close the shutters to my room. And half the time you're here, I'll probably end up being tired and falling asleep, like I'll probably do when you come back. I told you that you shouldn't have come," Hermione said to him. George smiled, touching her pale hand.

"I'm fine as long as you're fine. I know you can't get up and get your own tissues and I know that you can't get up and close the shutters by yourself. And I know that you'll be asleep because you're going to be tired and weak," George sighed, patting her hand. He looked at her for a moment, examining her face. The medicine was already eating away at her. Her face was gaunt, and ghostly pale. She had no make-up on. It was the first time he had seen her without it since she had returned. Her hair was stringy, and her eyes droopy. But behind her appearances, and behind the bloody tissue, he saw the same woman he had fallen in love with.

"George…" she said lightly. She touched his face with the hand that was not holding the tissue up. She smiled lightly, knowing how attractive she looked with a blood stained tissue covering her pale, ghostly face. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, moving her hand to George's shoulder. "You better go now. The doctor said that he wanted you to be gone before he comes back, which he'll be pretty soon. So, go do something fun with your life instead of sitting in the cafeteria. Go to a park, go to the cinemas, do _something_."

George smiled at her and took his turn to roll his eyes. "Fine. Since you are going to _force_ me to do something exciting… I suppose that I will do that," he told her. Hermione patted his back as he stood up. "Have an excellent time sitting in your bed. I'll bring some sweets back for you, or something. Maybe some kettle popcorn, or chocolates. And if the doctor says that you can't have any sweets… well, I've broken rules before, so I don't really care what he says." He walked out of the room, chuckling to himself as he did so.

"It's a gurney, not a bed!" Hermione called after him. She could see his thumbs up, and smiled, falling back down onto her pillow. She pulled another tissue from the box and threw out the old one. She sneezed into it, and had to grab another tissue. "Geez. I'm going to finish off this box of tissues today," she sighed. Her throat was tickling now. It had gotten a little sore over night, just as her nose had become stuffy. She didn't say anything as the doctor came back into the room carrying a needle and some large bandages.

"Now, when I prick you with this needle," the doctor started, walking towards Hermione and grabbing her arm, "you will bleed. You know that you cannot heal your wounds as quickly when you have leukemia, correct? I have these large bandages for an obvious reason. Are you afraid of needles?" Hermione shook her head. The doctor smiled. At this particular moment, it dawned on her that she did not know what the doctor's name was. "Of course you are not. You've had to deal with them before, have you not? I will be pricking your arm, so you will have to hold completely still."

Hermione nodded, remaining completely silent. She felt the point of the needle touch her arm, and enter her body. The sting hurt for a moment, and she had to close her eyes. But after she relaxed, the pain felt good. The stinging of the needle was mocking her. _This is not pain_._ You are weak. _It scoffed at her. _You know what pain is, and this is most definitely not it._ The needle left her body, and she could feel the blood start to trickle down her arm. The doctor carefully patted the area and cleansed it with a cotton ball, placing the bandage over the wound.

"Are you alright?" the doctor asked her. Dr. Andrew Breton, the doctor's nametag read. It was the first time she had looked at it. She nodded at Dr. Andrew Breton, and he smiled. "Good. Do you need anything? A magazine, or a book? Food, maybe?" Hermione shook her head. "Alright then. Nurses will be in and out of your room to check on you. I suggest you get some rest. The next few weeks are going to be quite hard on you. And that bloody nose will need some rest, too. Have a good day, Miss Granger."

Hermione sighed loudly as he left the room. "Great God, this is going to be a nightmare," she said aloud to herself. She pulled out another tissue from her box, and held it up to her nose. She sneezed once again. The blood was lessening, as far as she could tell. She touched the spot where Dr. Andrew Breton pricked her with the needle. She wondered what pain was. Was pain an emotional state of mind? Did pain really exist, or was it all in a person's head? Was pain supposed to be something intangible, such as a broken heart? Or was pain something you could see and touch, like a deep gash on your knee?

She sneezed again. The blood was tickling her nose. As she sneezed, it hurt her throat. She shook her head, pulled a new tissue from her box, and stuck it in her nose. She laid back onto her pillow, and shut her eyes. What _was_ pain? Did she truly know what pain was? Had she experienced it? Sure, having cancer the first time was painful. It hurt, a lot. But so was Harry's death. Which one was more painful? The physical pain or the emotional pain? Two many questions ran through her head. It was not long before she retired into a deep sleep.

She awoke, nearly fourteen hours later. It was eight o'clock in the morning. Her throat was even sorer than it was the day before. She rubbed her eyes, coughing lightly. She sat up slowly, and looked at her pillow. She could see where her head had laid, and she could also see that the white pillow was streaked with dry blood. She touched her nose, the tissue gone. She sighed, and rolled her eyes. Her nose was stuffy again. She pulled a new tissue from her box, and blew into it. Her nose was no longer bloody, she could see. That was always a plus. But her throat hurt now, and she still felt congested.

"Oh, Miss Granger," one of the nurses said, walking into the room. "You're awake. I have a new pillow for you. I came in earlier and saw what you had done to yours, so I went to bring you a new one." The nurse was a small, young woman. Her hair, a soft golden color, was tied up into a tight bun. She looked more like a little girl, ready for a ballet recital, than a nurse. "Um, I hope you had a good sleep. Dr. Breton will be in shortly to see how you are doing, and he will give you your medicine. Are you feeling alright today?"

Hermione coughed, taking the new pillow from the nurse, and handed her the bloody one. "My throat… is a little dry right now. Would you be able to get me a glass of water, please?" Hermione asked, coughing once more. The nurse nodded, stepping out of the room for a moment to get her some water. She returned quickly, handing Hermione the glass. "Thank you," Hermione said. She sipped the liquid, which felt good on her throat. But as soon as she put down that glass, her throat was soar again. She coughed.

The nurse, Elisabeth Breton as it appeared on her nametag—whom Hermione guessed was the doctor's daughter—frowned at Hermione. "That does not sound as though it had helped any. I will be right back. I am going to have Dr. Breton take a look at your throat, to see if it is something we should worry about, or just something that the medicine has done," Elisabeth said. She looked genuinely concerned, and Hermione wondered if she should be concerned about this also. The nurse disappeared from the room with haste.

It was only a moment before another body entered the room. "Hello, Hermione. You look… pale and tired today," George greeted her, walking towards the side of her bed. She crossed her arms and frowned at him, kissing him lightly as he bent down towards her. He was holding a small bag, and he set it on the corner of her bed, near her head. "I bought you a present while I was free to explore whatever city we are in. I think that you might like it…" He pulled a box out of the bag, and opened it. There, lying on velvet cloth, was a thin gold chain necklace. In the middle, a small ruby. Hermione laughed, coughing lightly.

"You did not really buy this… this is so beautiful," Hermione said. She touched it, and for once, she felt that something was more fragile than she was. "George, I cannot believe that you bought this for me." He smiled at her, and she smiled back. "Oh, will you put it on me? I love it, George. I love it! Where did you get the money for something like this? It must have cost you a fortune… You shouldn't have bought it. You really should not have. Oh, but it's so beautiful! You have no idea what this means to me, George."

He took the box away from her, and pulled the chain out of the velvet. "I admit, I do not know what this means to you. But I do know this," he trailed off. Hermione pulled her hair back, and he clasped the necklace around her neck. He examined her, and smiled. "I do know that you look lovely in red. I know that you look beautiful, even though you are pale, and even though you have bags underneath your eyes." He chuckled. "But did _you_ know, that I've always thought that you were beautiful. When I first met you, I knew that you'd be a lovely young women. Of course, I probably cracked some joke at you, or made fun of you, but that's the same thing, I guess."

"Oh, yes. That is exactly the same thing," Hermione said sarcastically. She fingered the ruby, and looked at him, coughing once more. "Thank you, George. I really don't know what I would do without you. I don't know what I would do without your pathetic—I mean wonderful—jokes, or your kindness." George smiled, and she held his hand. The doctor walked in, and nodded at George. He walked towards Hermione, and George backed away to give him space.

"Good morning, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley. If you could just open your mouth for me, that would be quite helpful," Dr. Andrew Breton told Hermione. She obeyed his suggestion, and opened her mouth as wide as possible. The doctor stuck a few tools into her mouth, and looked. She tried hard to suppress a cough. The doctor finally backed away, and she coughed loudly. George looked at her, confused.

"Mr. Weasley, I am going to have to ask you to leave. I do not know when you can return, but we will find you and inform you of that time," Dr. Andrew Breton told him. He made no eye contact with the redhead, but kept his eyes locked onto Hermione. She looked at the doctor, sitting up on her bed and coughing again. George cocked an eyebrow, and Hermione's heart began to race.

"Why can't he visit me? Why can't he stay?" Hermione demanded. The doctor frowned. "What's wrong with me?"

"Miss Granger, you do know what can happen when a person in your condition receives a virus or another disease, correct?" Dr. Andrew Breton asked. Hermione nodded, and her heart began to beat faster. This, already, was not sounding good. "A person can die. Medicine can sometimes not work. The cancer will get worse, and there is nothing anyone can do besides surgery. People can die faster."

George blinked. "What does this have to do with Hermione? What's the matter?" he inquired.

"She has a cold, Mr. Weasley. We are going to have to keep her in another room, where no more germs can get to her. We allow no visitors, and take serious precautions," the doctor replied. Hermione lip quivered, and she grabbed her ruby necklace, squeezing the ruby. "She can die, Mr. Weasley."

George shook his head, looking at Hermione for a moment. "No…" he muttered, before walking quickly out of the room. Could that have been the last word that George had ever said to her? Hermione burst into tears, coughing again.

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**Author's Note:** Okey dokey. So, I think that a lot has happened in this chapter. And it was pretty long. Plus, I updated very quickly, so that is always a plus. I am quite proud of this chapter. I updated fast, it's long, I think it's fairly decent (compared to last chapter, anyways). So, I'm in a good mood.

But you! How will my beloved readers react to this? What will you all say? Well, I will not know unless you review—which, by the way, I would love if you did! That would be very kind.

So, yeah. I don't really have much to say. Hmm… what to say… Does anyone need some tissues? –holds box out- Happy reading, everyone! Happy St. Patrick's Day!


	18. The Perfect Gift

**Author's Note:** OH! I am doing two things differently in this chapter! I have an author's note at the top—and I will probably have one at the bottom too, just a heads up (actually, no, I lied. No other author's note)—and I'm writing from George's point of view! Well, the third person point of view of George. Don't kill me. This is basically a filler chapter, but the ending is very important. VERY IMPORTANT! Watch out for that, okay? Happy reading, and leave a review when you finish reading the very important ending of this chapter! Wink, wink. He he.

Oh! And I am very sorry that I have not updated since the seventeenth of March, for that was nearly a month ago. I think that I had promised you that I would update soon. I'm a horrible person! Well… I'm not completely horrible. I'm just somewhat horrible. I have updated now, have I not? And there are only a few chapters left, everyone! I think the next one may possible be the last chapter—and what a horrible number to end with! I hate the number nineteen. But the next may be the last. Or depending on how far the next chapter drags on, it may be twenty chapters! Wouldn't that be lucky? Happy reading, once again!

**Chapter Eighteen – The Perfect Gift**

George walked out of that damned hospital faster than the Hogwarts Express traveled. His heart was pounding so hard that it hurt his chest, and he could barely breathe. His throat was burning, and his eyes were stinging with hot tears. Everything was hurting him right now. He had been so sure. He had been so sure that Hermione would be okay. He had been so sure that Hermione would make it through. He was so sure that Hermione would live. Now, he was not as sure. He was not sure that Hermione was okay, and he was not sure that she would make it through. He was not even sure that Hermione would live.

Of course, there was still time. There was time for her to live, and although it was a very little amount, it was still there. He had given the receptionist the number of his hotel room, and if Hermione was not going to make it through, they would hopefully call. He was going to be there if she died. She wouldn't die though. Not now, anyways. She was so young. She was a forty-year-old in a twenty-year-old woman's body in the mental state, but she was still young. She had not had time to live as a young girl, for she was friends with Harry Potter. They had grown up so fast. It was a horrible thing to watch. Plus, Hermione was a smart, goody-two-shoes in any case. He could not imagine that when she was a young "muggle" girl, she was having any fun. In fact, he had always pictured her as the type of girl who sat alone on the playground, reading all the time. That was no fun. She could not have really had a childhood.

Now Harry Potter was dead. Soon, Hermione would maybe be dead. The only ones left would be Ron and Ginny. The only friends George would have left was Ron and Ginny and Fred. They were his siblings, they did not count. George had fallen in love with Hermione Granger, and if she died, who would he have left to fall in love with? Could he? Could he fall in love again if Hermione died, or would her bony face and her cancerous body haunt his mind forever? This made him wonder. What would happen if she died? What would he do? He doubted he could ever love anyone else the way he loved Hermione now. His glass heart was slowly shattering in defeat, for he almost felt as though he knew she would die. He would have no one else, except for Fred and Ron and Ginny, and his mother, too.

He had no evidence of her survival. There were too many things pointing to her death, and her luck was running out. His hope for her survival was quickly disappearing, and he knew that she already knew that. He knew that she barely had any hope left—maybe the only thing she had was that ruby necklace, and that was acting as her hope. She had a cold now, and the doctors were beginning to worry. There was no cure for cancer. She would not be able to take cold medicine with the medicine she takes for her cancer. Maybe she would continue to get worse and worse. There were too many things saying that she was not going to make it. It scared George to no end, and he shuddered. He didn't know where he was, literally and figuratively speaking.

He looked around. He had ran out of the hospital in a hurry, and had tears in his eyes. He had just been wandering the streets, and had no clue where he was now. He did not know how far he had traveled from the hospital, nor did he want to know. He did not know how to get back the his hotel, and although he thought that may be important, he could just apparate there. He did not care for the moment, where he was, or where he needed to be. He wanted to go home now. He was already sick of the atmosphere in Wales. Earlier in the day, when he had thought that Hermione was alright, it was fine. But now that he knew what was happening, and knew that Hermione was dying, he hated it here. He wanted to go home, and for once, he wanted to not hear anything funny. He wanted to go home and be alone, without his twin, without his mother or siblings. He did not want to hear from anyone about the Truth or Dare Cube. He wanted to lie down and cry.

He had bought Hermione that ruby necklace, and found pleasure in doing so. Hermione found pleasure when he bought her that necklace. It hit him like a punch to the face. He should buy her something else. Hermione would be happier, and she would be okay. Maybe if her bought her something, she would think that he still believed in her survival. He did not know exactly what he should buy her, for although he had gotten her a necklace, she was not the jewelry type of person. Maybe he could buy her chocolates, although he did not know how good that was for her. He could buy her a teddy bear and some flower maybe. But she did not seem like the type of person who enjoyed teddy bears, either. Hermione was a difficult person to shop for.

George continued to wander down the streets. The sky was clouding over, and as people realized that it was going to rain, they started to disappear from the streets. He looked around at the shops, and one caught his eye. He could see through the window, an item so perfect. It was the perfect gift. He was going to buy it for her. His eyes gazed downward to the price. Five hundred pounds? That was a lot, he knew, and he would have to trade in many galleons to purchase the item. Approximately one hundred galleons, actually. He had earned all of that through his own shop, and he was sure that Fred would not be happy that he was spending all of this money on that item. Perhaps until later. He apparated to the Gringotts in Diagon Alley, for he knew where that one was. He exchanged his galleons for pounds, and apparated back quickly. He was going to buy that item, but he would not give it to Hermione until later.

He entered the shop and looked around. He felt the money in his pocket, and gazed at prices. Since he could only afford five hundred dollars, he had to watch the prices of the items he was looking at. He gazed at the shapes of them, and found that the larger ones cost a bundle more than the smaller ones. Some looked nicer than others, and others looked even better than that. He was not experienced in the shopping department, except for Zonko's products. Although he did not really count that as shopping. He had to find the perfect gift, though. They all looked lovely, but which was the perfect one?

A man, dressed in a suit, walked up to George, and folded his hands together. "Hello, good sir. How are you this fine evening?" George shrugged, wiping his eyes to make sure that he was not still crying. That would be too embarrassing. "I hope you are finding everything alright. Are you looking for anything in particular? Any style or shape? Any size or price?" George looked around again. He could not be specific. He did not know what he wanted, if it was anything particular. He did not know what style or what shape he wanted. He knew he could not afford the big ones, and could only buy something under five hundred pounds. He just wanted which ever one he bought to be the perfect gift. It would stick out like a sore thumb when he saw it, he knew.

"I'm just looking for the perfect one," George told the man. The man, grey haired and starting to wrinkle, nodded lightly, and unfolded his hands. "I don't care about a style or a shape. I don't really care about a size, but I only have five hundred pounds, so I don't think I can afford anything large. I know that it will stick out to me when I see it. It is going to perfect. The girl I love is in the hospital. She needs this." The man frowned, and George could tell that the man was pitying him. He already hated pity, just as Hermione had hated pity as well. He was not going to tell anyone else if this was the response he would receive.

"Then we will get her the most perfect engagement ring in this shop," the man told George. George nodded, and followed the man as he walked over to the left side of the shop. "One of these maybe? I am willing to give you a discount so you can afford this ring for your lady, and be the perfect ring. Is there anything that meets your fancy, sir?" George looked into the glass containers at the rings. They were larger ones, five and six hundred pounds. One in particular caught his eye—a lovely diamond ring with a gold band and a large rectangular diamond. It sparkled, and George knew that this was the one Hermione would love. It was six hundred pounds, however. Would the man give him that much of a discount? It would not hurt to ask.

"I like the one there," he said, pointing to the ring in the case. "But it's more than I can afford." George knew that he was buying an engagement ring. He knew that he was moving very quickly—he and Hermione had just gotten together a while ago. Everyone in his family would most likely disapprove. He was moving too fast. He knew it. But he was not going to take any more chances. If Hermione survived, he would give the ring to her. They would be together. He would not take any more chanced of losing her. If she died… well… he supposed that he would spend the money for nothing. But it was just a ring, was it not? Just a possession…

"I will give you a discount for that one. It is out of the kindness of my heart that I will sell that ring to you for but five hundred pounds. Are you going to take that deal?" the man asked him. George looked at the ring one last time. He was moving quickly. He nodded. He was going to take the ring, and he was going to keep it with him until he got word of Hermione's condition. The man took the ring out of the case and walked over to the cash register. George had just bought a ring, and it was an engagement ring. He was actually disappointed in himself for buying it. But if it made Hermione happy, and him happy, then it was all worth it in the end. He apparated back to his hotel room and sat, waiting for what he hoped would soon come a phone call.

Two weeks had passed, and there was still no word of Hermione's condition. George sat everyday in his hotel room, fiddling with the ring in its case and lying on his bed, crying. He had never been so depressed in his life. He had always been so happy, and now, he felt strange. He felt like a young immature fool when he cried, until he realized that it was completely normal that he was crying. He was sad and tired. He was hungry and sick of going out to eat every night, that being his only meal per day. He was sick of waiting for the phone call that seemed to never come. He was tired and sick of waiting to hear if Hermione was alright.

However, that night, he received a phone call. When the phone rang, he nearly jumped up and ran to the phone. He picked it up, so excited and scared that he felt as though he had to use the restroom. He greeted the other end, and heard a soft sigh. Already he knew that the news was not good. He did not want to hear what the other person was going to say anymore. He was regretting buying the ring already, and he regretted picking up the phone. He started to weep softly as the person on the other end started to talk to him.

"Mr. Weasley? We have bad news for you. Hermione is not doing very well, and we are not sure if she is going to survive the next couple of days. We will be allowing you to visit her, although most of the day she is unconscious. You may come and visit her whenever you like, but only for a few minutes per hour, as she still has a cold, and we are still taking precautions. We are very sorry to inform this to you, Mr. Weasley. We are doing all that we can to try to help her," the person on the other end told him. He did not say anything. He hung up the phone and picked up the ring off of the table.

Crying, he chucked the ring into his trash can and walked out of his hotel room.


	19. Keep Holding On

**Author's Note:** Another author's note at the top? What is up with the author these days? Actually, nothing really. I just have important things to say that could not wait until after the chapter. Well, they could, but I'm an impatient person as all of my friends know (and if I am so impatient, then why is it that I sometimes update slowly?), and I'm sure you all want to know whether this chapter is the last one or if it is not. I am also sure that you would like to know if Hermione dies or not. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you that. You must read this chapter! And gasp! What if it's the last? What if it isn't? What if you don't find out if she dies until the next chapter? GASP! 

Well, it is not the last chapter. I repeat, it is NOT the last chapter. I have planned one more chapter. Besides, nineteen is a horrible number to end with. Not only is it my least favorite number (well, nine is. But anything with nine at the end of it bugs me, so… yeah), but it's an odd number. And unless the odd number was five, that would be a horrible way to end a fanfiction! So, there will be twenty chapters. If this chapter doesn't make you cry—and you better!—then hopefully the last one will. And I'm not saying that Hermione dies, so don't assume that because I said that she dies! On that lovely happy note… happy reading!

**Chapter Nineteen – Keep Holding On**

How could the person on the other end just say that they were sorry? Did they even know the pain that George was going through at the moment? He hated them. He truly did. He hated the person who called, whether it was the doctor or nurse who was trying to save her life or the receptionist who promised they would call him to inform him of any changes. He could not think of anything other than how mad he was at the person who called him. How could they be sorry? They didn't know who he was, and they didn't know how much pain he was in. They didn't know how much he loved Hermione, and they didn't know how many pranks he pulled on Hermione and her friends when they were younger. They didn't know that he had a soft side, and they didn't know that his whole life didn't run off his pranks and jokes. They didn't know that he had bought Hermione an engagement ring and they didn't know that he had thrown it in the trash. They didn't know him at all.

Hermione was dying. Maybe the ring would have been something she would have liked. Maybe she would have started to get better if he went back to his hotel room and took the ring out of the trash. Except she was unconscious, and she wouldn't be able to notice that he had brought her that anyways. He was better off throwing it out. If she died, he wouldn't have that ring as a reminder of her. He would be able to move on. But then he would see Ron, and know that she had been his friend. He would never be able to escape Hermione's chokehold on him, and he would never be able to move him. He would never be able to fall in love with anyone else ever again. He would never be able to make another prank toy, or crack another joke when someone was sad. He would never be able to live a full life—it would be nearly over if Hermione died. He loved her so much—but he loved his family too.

He was in the hospital now. Now he knew why Hermione hated the hospital so much. There was pain and death—maybe once in a while someone would get lucky and live. Maybe once in a while someone would come out crying tears of joy. He walked towards the receptionist desk, and she pointed him down the hallway, through the double swinging doors to the last door on the left. He walked down the hall, peeking into the open doors to see people crying happily, crying in pain, and crying tears of sorrow. He continued on, walking through the double doors. Doctors were walking around, pointing to doors and talking to each other. They were holding clipboard, and examining data. They were drinking coffee, as they had been there all day, and for most of last night. They were tired, but ready to get back to work. They were putting on their masks and walking into rooms. They were saving people's lives. They were trying to save people's lives. They were failing at saving people's lives.

The last door on the left. He knocked three times and heard a voice from behind him. He spun around to find the doctor, holding his clipboard and staring at him. "You're George Weasley, right?" he asked. George nodded, moving out of the way of the door. The doctor put up his mask and pulled another mask from behind his clipboard. He handed it to George, and waited for him to put it on. As soon as it was secure on George's face, the doctor opened the door and walked in. George followed in slowly, closing his eyes in fear of what was going to lie ahead of him in the room. His heart was pounding and he became nervous, like a person who is hiding during a game of hide-and-go-seek, or a singer before a performance. When he finally opened his eyes, he almost regretted doing so.

That was not Hermione in the bed. It was a ghostly white, sickly looking version of Hermione. Her hair was greasy—the last time she had washed it was probably two weeks ago when they first got there. Her face was bonier than it was before, and it didn't even look like anything was in the bed, she was so thin. Her eyes were closed, and she looked even nearer to death than he had expected. Tubes were attached to her face, and there was a needle in her arm. Her chest was only gently raising and lowering, but other than that, she wasn't moving at all. She looked like a dummy in a bed, acting like it was Hermione in that bed. He wasn't going to believe that it was her. She had to wake up. She had to wake up so he could talk to her, and tell her how sorry he was for anything he did that was bad at Hogwarts.

He looked at the doctor, ho was fumbling with something on some muggle machine. George stared back at Hermione until the doctor turned back around at looked at him. "That's really her," the doctor told him. "She's weaker than we expected her to be at this point of her cancer. The cold virus that she received got into her blood, and the white blood cells can't fight them off. The white blood cells are at a minimum when a person has leukemia, which is why we have to try very carefully to make sure the patient does not get sick. Hermione had came here before when she first had cancer. It is hard to tell when the cancer is gone, and when it is not. She would have been considered cured if she had only lasted a little longer without having a relapse. She probably would have made it if she hadn't gotten sick. But this just means that all of the doctors and I have to work just a little bit harder to make sure she does make it out of here alive. I know that it isn't fair when a person you love gets cancer. It's the reason I became a doctor. My mother died from breast cancer when I was eleven, and I knew that I wanted to help every other sick person on earth. Or as many as I could."

"How could she get sick, though? How could anyone get sick with cancer? The diseases don't just pop up and choose a person to start killing. What causes cancer in a person?" George asked the doctor. The doctor looked sad, like he didn't know the answer. He shook his head lightly, looking back at the dying girl on the gurney. The doctor didn't know the answer. Or, if he did, he wasn't about to tell George. It would be for the better anyways. Wouldn't it? George looked expectantly at the doctor. He needed the answer, he knew. The doctor turned back to George and fiddled with his hands. He was never sure of these speeches.

"We're not really sure," the doctor decided to say. He turned away from George again and looked back at Hermione. George walked next to the other side of her gurney and pulled a chair up next to it. He grabbed Hermione hand and exhaled every breath of air from his body. Her hand was colder than ice, and it almost hurt his hand just to hold it. It stung like ice when you hold it for too long, and water that was so hot that it was cold. George kept holding her hand anyways, sure that she would know if he let go. The doctor, noticing George's flinch, asked, "How old are you?" It wasn't the question George expected to be asked, but all the same, he answered it.

"Twenty-one," he replied. The doctor nodded, frowning lightly behind his mask.

"It's a horrible thing," the doctor stated, "for a person to get cancer. It can be caused by the environment or by genetics. It can be caused by what you eat or how healthy you are. Cancer can be caused by so many things that it's hard to track. Everyday on television there will be a new report saying that this causes cancer, or this stops cancer from happening. A week later, they will change their minds about it, after everybody already ate all that food or took medicine to prevent cancer. You can get cancer just by breathing in air, or eating meat. There is no way to prevent cancer." George looked up at the doctor, watching him carefully. "The person who finds the cure to cancer may be the most famous person in the world, up until someone else finds something better, or finds the cure to other diseases. Or the person could be ignored, and nobody will know who found the cure. You know, there will only be a limited amount of the medicine for the cure. Everyone on this earth who has cancer would want the cure, but they would not give it to everyone. How will they decide who gets it and who does not?"

George blinked. How could they create a cure and then not give it to everyone? It was wrong and sickening to even think about. There were so many dying people in the world—people dying of cancer—and they would not apply the medicine to everyone? Would they do that for other cures as well? Would they create a cure for arthritis and then only give it to a select few? What about heart disease and mental disorders? Would they not distribute a cure for that to everyone? Would they not distribute cures in fear of over-population of the world and, in turn, famine? _For a society that fears death, we seem to fear life more,_ George thought angrily.

George rubbed Hermione's icy hand with his thumb, staring at it. "It wouldn't be right to only give it to a certain amount of people. That's disgusting. How could they do that when there are so many people out here who are dying. What about people like Hermione?" he demanded, and the doctor shook his head. "I know that there isn't a cure yet, but shouldn't they be working on changing the world to be a better place? A less greedy place?" _It is moments like this that I feel that the whole world would fit into Slytherin at Hogwarts_. "What makes anyone think that the world would be better if they just let people die? Hermione is holding on, but…"

A fast beeping came from one of the machines near where the doctor stood. George stood up, still holding onto Hermione's hand. The doctor looked at the machine, and then at Hermione. He seemed scared now, and went out into the hallway, coming back in with a load of doctors. "What's going on?" George asked, as the doctors surrounded him and started to drag him away from the room. The doctors were talking loudly over his yelling, and there was a loud, long beep. The doctors were all staring at Hermione, and then there was a rush. "What's going on?" George yelled, still trying to hold onto Hermione's hand. Two doctors pulled him away, and his fingers slipped away from Hermione's. "Hermione! Hermione! What's going on with her? Hermione! No, let me go back!"

"Son, go outside!" one of the doctor's said. He and the other doctor dragged him outside to the hallway and shut the door to Hermione's room. George was resisting, trying to go back in. "Sit down! Sit down, son!" George finally leaned back against the wall and fell to the ground. He rubbed his eyes with his hands and looked at the doctors. He was already crying again, looking at the closed door. "Son, we're very sorry about that. But we had to take you away."

"Miss Granger is not doing well at the moment. We're losing her," the other doctor said. She had taken her mask off, and was watching George closely. "She's dying, sir."

"I didn't get to say goodbye!" George exclaimed, standing back up. The doctors grabbed his arms and shook their heads. "But I didn't get to say goodbye to her! I can't lose her now! She isn't going to die… she's not going to die…"

"Sir, we need to get back in there so we can help save her. You need to stay out here and wait," the female doctor told George. She headed back towards the door with the male doctor, but George followed. However, as the door opened, he didn't try to go back in. He would wait until the doctors came back.

"Tell her to keep holding on! Tell her for me!" George called out to the doctors as they disappeared into the mob of doctors and closed the door. He fell back to the ground and leaned back against the wall. "I didn't say goodbye…" The tears were streaming down his face, and he wiped his eyes. People walked by him, showing him looks of pity. She was dying.

"Hermione…" George said softly. He threw his fist to the floor, yelling in frustration, "Hermione!"

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**Author's Note:** Another author's note! How amazing. This is your lucky day. Or your unlucky day, since you all just read this chapter. But maybe it still could be your lucky day… if you don't like Hermione. But that would be really mean, and I would be really scared of you.

If you think this is over, it's not. Like I said, there is still **one chapter left**. You'll most definitely **want to read the last chapter**. You seriously need to read the last chapter. It's going to be sad. Yes, it's going to be sad—but I never said that it wouldn't be happy. But then again, I never said that it would be happy.

See, that's exactly why you need to read the last chapter. Because I am such a confusing person that you have no idea what I'm talking about, and you need to read it.

There were also some things in this chapter that may have not seemed important, but they really were. You'll want to watch for that. They're very vague, and only have a little part in the whole of this, but... still. They were important to notice.

Anyways, happy reading! And reviewing!


	20. The Last Step

**Chapter Twenty – The Last Step**

Hermione was dying. Plan and simple. George saw the doctors rush in. He heard them speak the words, "She's dying, sir." He saw her pale, ghostly looking body. She was dying while he was holding her hand, she was dying when the doctor was telling him that he had lost his mother to cancer. Hermione dying could not have been written out any clearer; it was spelled in capital letters in boldface. She was basically dead already, wasn't she? He could see on the doctor's faces that she was not going to survive. This was life. Life was cruel and unfair, and that was it. Things weren't about to get any better. If anything, things would only get worse. That was what happened when a person was sick. Nothing ever improved.

The one thing Hermione had asked for was hope, and there was not even any left. He had given up on her, and she was unconscious. How could a person who was dying have any hope at all? They were so weak that they probably did not remember what life was like. And how could anyone know if the Weasley's were still rooting for her? They didn't know what was happening right now. They were probably sitting at home, expecting George and Hermione's return within the next week, not even thinking about death. Cancer was a long disease, and it had been a few weeks already. Death was inches away, and in sight.

George knew that he had to do something for her. He would have to get back into that room and see her one last time before she left him. He would do something for her. He would tell her that he had hope—how could an unconscious person tell if someone was lying or not? Maybe he would wait a few minutes longer until he barged into the room, demanding the doctors to allow him a few minutes. Or he could wait until the doctors came out and got him. But how long would that take? And what would they be coming out to say? That Hermione did not make it? That Hermione was dead? He would not allow that to happen.

It hit him so suddenly, and he smiled to himself. Although he knew that this was not the time to be smiling, he was so excited that he had thought of an idea. He walked out of the hospital and down the streets of Wales. If he apparated now, surely a muggle would see, and he would be revealed. He would not risk that. He would apparate home in a moment, once he got to his hotel room. His idea was so brilliant, granted this worked with muggles. It would most likely work on them—if it did not, George would give up all hope that had just come back to him. Or if it showed what he did not want to see, he would cry.

He walked briskly to his hotel room, sliding the key into the keyhole as soon as he got there. He had held the key ready so he would not waste any time rummaging through his pant pockets trying to find it. His heart was pounding through his chest, for he had nearly sprinted to the hotel. He opened the door and fell through the archway into the room. He darted for the trashcan and almost choked when he found that the ring that he had thrown into the bucket was not there. He dumped the bucket upside down, allowing the plastic covering to fall to the ground slowly. Silence followed, and he knew that the ring was gone.

It was not until he looked on the counter next to the trash bucket that he noticed something gleam out of the corner of his eyes. His frown quickly turned into a bright smile, and his watery eyes quickly became dry. On the counter was the diamond ring with a note beneath it. He picked it up and stuck it into his pocket, patting it down gently. He glanced down at the note and read the messy handwriting with great difficulty: "I think you dropped this. It looks important. Good luck asking her. You're welcome, Susannah." A heart circled around the word 'her,' and he could picture the maid winking at him. He smiled and kept the note on the counter.

He had been lucky. He knew that he was. Other people—not only maids— would have seen that ring in the trash bucket and kept it for themselves. They would be selfish, although he knew that if they had seen it in the trash, the person probably would have assumed that the owner did not need it anymore. The maid, Susannah, was a special person, an honest person, and that was something great. They needed honest people in the world, for he knew that there were not many. He respected her, and scribbled down on the note—not sure if the maid would ever get it—"Thank you" in capital letters.

He patted the ring in his pocket again and apparated back to his hometown, back to his own home. He would not allow Fred, if he was there, to know that he was home. No one could know. He was stopping in for one thing, and then apparating back to the hotel room so he could travel back to the hospital. The house was silent—he assumed that Fred was either at the shop or out to eat with Meg. It was usually loud in the house when they were alone, surprisingly, considering it would be one person in a large home, due to their experimentations. Sometimes they listened to music when they were alone, or sang quietly—and quite pathetically—to themselves.

He grabbed the object he wanted and apparated back to the hotel room and sprinted out of the room. He hastily made him way back to the hospital, carrying the object carefully and keeping a hand to his pocket so he knew the ring would not fall out. The clouds gathered in, and the rain started up once more. The air was warm and getting thicker as he moved through the crowds. People would yell, telling him to slow down. He dodged people, and did not bother to apologize when he bumped into people. Those people usually chose some select words, and he would yell back at them, "I'm going to the hospital!"

He crashed through the doors of the hospital and sprinted to Hermione's room, ignoring the doctor's calls begging him to slow down. He opened the door to her room, not caring that they had told him to stay out until they came to get him. A few of the doctors looked at him as he walked straight towards Hermione. Some glided towards him as to push him away, but he pushed through them. "Get out of here, son!" one of them yelled. "I said get out of here! Don't make me call security!" He threatened George, but he did not care. He knew that they thought he had gone mad, but the doctor he had talked to one-on-one earlier seemed to be nodding as though he was allowing him the chance to speak with Hermione on a one-sided conversation.

"Just let me talk to her. Just let me speak with her and say goodbye before something bad happens," George begged. The doctors moved aside and George sat in the chair next to Hermione's bed. He pulled the ring out of his pocket and sat the other object on the floor for a moment. He looked at Hermione and the doctors sighed. "I'm really sorry, Hermione. You know, I've kind of given up hope that you will survive, so I've decided to give you the present that I've been waiting to give to you. I'm not really sure if I have said this to you before… I can't even remember, that's how pathetic I am… but… I love you, Hermione. I mean, I'm guessing I could love you a little bit more if I knew you better and if we stay together for a longer period of time, but I need you to be there to do that, so that means that you have to live. You're a smart girl, Hermione. You can figure this out. I know you can."

George fiddled with the ring in his hands. He looked down at it and smiled. "I think you deserve this. You can answer my question when you wake up, but you can have this for now, if you'd like. Will you marry me when you wake up?" he asked the unconscious body. No reply can, unsurprisingly. He slipped the ring onto Hermione's ring finger anyways and stared at it. "I know that this is incredibly fast, and I know that it's probably strange for everyone that I'm talking to some unconscious person, but I can't risk this again. When you wake up, you can decide, if you want to marry me, when we get married, and any plans you want. Take your time. I just do not want to lose you."

He looked down at the object he had brought and picked it up. He stood up slowly and walked over to the doctor that he had had a one-on-one conversation with. He offered the object and the doctor took it hesitantly. "It's nothing bad. I just have to ask you a question. It's a truth or dare cube, and it has a built in… um… lie detector. You need to pick truth, and I will ask you whether or not Hermione will live. Don't ask any questions, please. Just do this for me. Do this for your patient, Hermione. I know that this may seem very strange, and this is even strange for me. You may feel a little weird if you answer incorrectly. But this is very serious. Please," George begged. The doctor nodded, and George smiled weakly.

"Okay. Thank you very much. So, truth or dare?" he asked the doctor. The doctor replied with truth, and George nodded. "Is Hermione going to live?" The doctor looked at the cube he was holding and frowned. He was unsure of this, and was unsure of what George had meant when he had said that he would feel a little weird if he answers incorrectly. The doctor glanced at the other doctors for a moment, all of whom were watching him intently. They were all looking excited, as if this were a television program and it had gotten to a very mysterious part, or a movie when it got to the suspenseful part.

"Well, it's possible. We may have to give her bone marrow transplants to save her, but there is always the possible chance that her body may reject it, and it may be a hopeless cause. It all depends on what we doctors do to help her survive, and the way her body handles it," the doctor answered, and George nodded. The doctor looked worried, but he did not feel any different, and he had answered as honestly as he could. "We would also give her some other types of medicine to go along with transplant. However, we have to find a matching donor, and on her records it said that she had no living relatives."

"Try to walk forward, please," George instructed. The doctor raised his eyebrows at the redhead, and George nodded. "Come on, walk forward. It's not very hard." The doctor looked at George blankly, and then at his feet as though worried. George smiled. "That was an incorrect answer. That means that you only have two other choices as answers. Yes and no. One of those has to be the correct answer, and you will be able to move your feet again. I know, this is a weird truth or dare cube. It's just new technology. It sends shockwaves through your legs which go to your feet. The shoes you're wearing stick to whatever surface they are on. It's strange. I bought it in… um… some weird country that not many people have heard of. It's a nice place, though." He had fixed the cube up some. It was stronger and better than before.

The doctor nodded. "Okay, then." The other doctors looked expectantly at him, urging him to answer quickly. It was not before long that a loud bang was heard on the door and a troop of people wandered in. All of them had red hair, and they all varied in height. There were four of them: all of them were considered Hermione's family, and all of them were literally George's family. Somehow, the Weasley family—Ron, Mrs. Weasley, Fred, and Ginny—had found there way to Wales and found the hospital where Hermione was. George stared at them in awe, and they all gazed at Hermione on the bed.

"I guess we found the correct room. I heard you come home," Fred told his twin. The doctors were all staring at the family as though they were mad, and Fred frowned. "I heard you rummaging around, and then I knew you left. I went to tell mum, and then she said she would find out, as quickly as possible, where Hermione was staying. So, she did. And we found her. What happened?" Ginny walked towards her sick friend and touched her hand, shivering slightly.

"Mum," Ginny called, and her mother walked towards her. "Look at that." Ginny pointed at the ring on Hermione's finger, and George blushed.

"She was dying—she is dying, rather," George said. "I didn't want to lose her. And I could not possibly tell you all. I knew that you would swarm down here and bug her. I was frightened, all right? I was scared of this happening, and it did. She doesn't even know that I asked her to marry me… I know it's fast, mum… but…"

"Mr. Weasley, sir," the doctor, who was still frozen in place, muttered. "I would appreciate if you could stop these shockwaves. If you would like to have Ms. Granger live, I will have to be able to move to do so." George nodded. He looked at Ron, who was biting his thumb and fighting back tears. Ginny hugged him tightly, and Mrs. Weasley broke into a sob. The doctor frowned, and put it out in the open. "No. I do not believe that Hermione will survive this time."

George frowned, and the Weasley family watched the doctor closely. The doctor stood still for a moment before point towards Hermione's body. "Wait! Look! Turn around! She is awakening!" the doctor exclaimed. George jolted around and stared at Hermione's face. Sure enough, her eyes were slowly flickering open. She blinked blankly and coughed.

"Hermione!" George shouted. He bent down and kissed her gently on the lips and she stared up at him. "Oh, Hermione, I am so sorry. Hermione, I love you. I love you." The Weasley's all smiled at her, and in a moment everyone was crying—even Fred. The doctor smiled as Hermione looked at George.

"I love you to," she said softly. Her voice was less than a whisper. It was weak, but George could hear it. He looked quickly back at the doctor, and glanced at his feet.

"I'm not moving," the doctor smiled. "So, I believe that I only have one option left, do I not?"

Hermione tugged gently at George's pants. "Y-yes…" she said quietly. "To your question. But I think we should plan this together." George's heart was beating quickly, and he kissed Hermione again. Everything was happening so quickly. Soon he saw that Hermione was also crying, and he brushed the tears off of her cheeks.

"How did you wake up?" he asked her.

"I'm not sure," she explained. The doctors were gathering around her, checking her forehead and her pulse. They were jiggling buttons on machines and moving about randomly. "I think—I think I heard your voice. I thought it was a dream, so I ignored it. But then I heard Fred's voice, and Ginny's voice. They became clearer and clearer, and I decided that I should have a peek at what was going on."

The doctor who was frozen cleared his throat. "I have something I would like to say." George nodded, and grabbed Hermione's hand. "Yes. I believe that Hermione will survive."

And his feet moved.

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**Author's Note:** Aren't I the nicest author ever? I mean, really. I think that was the nicest thing I have ever done in my entire life. Okay, maybe not, but still. You guys are so lucky that I take into consideration your opinions of this. Because for a really long time I had been planning to kill her off. But I like having you guys not hate me, so it swung my decision a little bit. See, I'm a softy! I'm such a nice person! It's quite pathetic, actually.

Anyways, this is it! It's the end! Another story completed. Oh, and it was my little baby. I'm sad, yes, but I think I can actually get to work on all of my other fanfictions now. This one has been preoccupying me for quite some time now. I deserve a little break, don't you think? Besides, I took time off of my major project to write this for you!

By the way, I really appreciate everyone who has been reviewing since the beginning. There are so many of you that if I list everyone, it will just be another 1,000 words, or something. Besides, you know who you are. Thank you so much, ya'll! Trust me, I'm serious. There are so many of you who have been here with me since the beginning. You guys rock!

The characters—except for the O.C.s—belong to J.K. Rowling. Most of the other stuff does to, except for the plot. Yay! How exciting!

Thank you all so much! I really appreciate everything! Happy reading!


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